


Fear No Monsters

by Saori



Series: Diamond Creek, Oregon [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, M/M, Moving In Together, References to Depression, Sexual Content, Small Towns, but only minor, there may be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saori/pseuds/Saori
Summary: Chris is still mourning the loss of his daughter when Peter offers him a new life. The catch? They would be living in the same house. Like the beginning of a bad joke: a werewolf and a werewolf hunter move in together... The punch line is quite unexpected.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: Diamond Creek, Oregon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801036
Comments: 12
Kudos: 175





	Fear No Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> While this is a prequel to [Fuck You, Oregon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079840), it can be read alone.
> 
> Now that I've had a little experience in writing Chris' character, I've kind of been taken by this fic, kept prisoner and the ransom was my soul - which I happily paid. Seriously, I think there were nights when the fic didn't let me sleep, had to write it, write it, write it. If you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it, it's an absolute win.
> 
> Not detailing the clusterfuck, I have decided to share this fic unbeta'd. Please, be aware of that as you're reading it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about constructions, except those two YouTube videos I watched ages ago. Seriously, the level of bullshitting can be seen from space. Just go with it, please.
> 
> I'd like to say a planet-sized thank you to Cath, the best cheerleader and writing buddy ever.
> 
> Thank you to Ere and Hun for taking a look.
> 
> [This song inspired, like, 70% of the fic.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpiF_Sujc6g)
> 
> Enjoy!

Chris leaned back in the seat, his head thumping against the soft headrest. His eyes felt raw from rubbing at them constantly and his head hurt. That was all he felt. He was hollow inside. Completely empty. Kate was dead. Gerard was… to his best knowledge, six feet under as well. Victoria had killed herself. But Allison… His sweet baby girl. The only person left after what has happened these past few years. His rock. His anchor to this world. His… his reason to live.

She was gone. Dead. And she’d never come back.

If this was how the Hales felt after the fire, he kind of understood Peter’s rampage all those years ago. He felt like wrapping his hands around the Stilinski-kid – or whatever creature was wearing his face – and just… ripping him apart. Bit by bit, by his own human hands. He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought.

Before he could start feeling that pain again, right in the center of his chest that used to hold so much love, so many good memories… there was a knock on his car window. He didn’t even think before he shouldered the door open, pulling his weapon from his shoulder-holster, aiming at the man lying on his back on the ground, holding his side with a frown.

“Hale.” He didn’t offer help, apologies, nor to put his gun away. Peter grinned, too sharp, too real. Chris couldn’t deal with this right now.

“Argent. A pleasure. Would you mind pointing that at something else?” He gestured at the gun. Chris’ hand never wavered, nor did his gaze. Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine, although this is not the position I’d hoped to have this conversation in.”

“What do you want?” Chris asked, working his jaw to hold back his rage. He needed an outlet for this building aggression, but making a mosquito net out of the werewolf wouldn’t be it. Peter didn’t matter, the revenge wouldn’t be satisfying enough.

“Well, of course, I thought I could offer my support as someone who also lost his entire family.” Peter smugly and arrogantly leaned on his elbows, like his position on the ground was voluntary.

“Bullshit.” Chris didn’t need to know Peter’s nature to know he would never offer any kind of support to anyone. It was enough to look at his eyes. They practically begged for someone to call him out on the lie.

“That’s rather hurtful, Christopher.” He pouted, bringing one arm up to press his fingers to his chest.

“I don’t like to repeat myself,” Chris growled, annoyed.

“No intelligent man does. In that, we’re quite similar, aren’t we?” Chris drew in a deep, hopefully, calming breath. Arrogance wasn’t a good reason to kill. Arrogance wasn’t a good reason to kill. Arrogance wasn’t a good reason to kill…

“Just spit it out.”

“I thought we just established we don’t like to say the same thing twice.” Peter clicked his tongue, annoyed. “I’m not lying. I’d say listen to my heart, but oh, well.” He looked Chris up and down with a superior air. Chris had the urge to roll his eyes but repressed it. He learned fast after meeting him that it was a bad idea to take his eyes off Peter Hale.

He was lying, of course. He didn’t have moral support to offer. He knew Peter was lying, Peter knew he was lying, and he knew Chris knew it too. Chris didn’t understand why they needed to play pretend. He was tired of this, of mind games, of werewolves and of demons.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to offer.” He said, probably too harshly. Not that it mattered. Peter deserved anything thrown at him and Chris was hurting, so he felt justified.

“Maybe not in my emotional support. How about my offer of company?” He smirked like he said something awfully smart, but Chris was lost on what it was. Not that it mattered.

“No, thanks.” He shook his head in disbelief, ready to walk away. That was his first mistake. His second was not paying any mind to Peter’s muscles tensing as he got ready to launch. His third was lowering his aim from between the wolf’s eyes, to somewhere around his neck.

Peter took his opportunity to jump to his feet. A shot rang out, but the bullet bounced off the asphalt, then Peter was twisting his wrist painfully. Chris didn’t let go of the gun, turning, so he shoulder-checked Peter in the chin. There was a click as the werewolf’s teeth knocked together, and using this fraction of a second of Peter’s hold slackening to twist his hand from his, stepped back and pressed the gun to Peter’s forehead.

“You’re fast.” Peter grinned. His teeth were bloody, and he licked them, bringing a hand up to wipe at the corner of his lower lip.

“I’d say give me one reason not to shoot you here and now, but I’m afraid nothing you might have to say would stop me. I’m not in the mood to play your games.” Chris’s wrist was smarting from Peter’s earlier twist, so he switched hands. He wasn’t concerned about it, he was an excellent shot with both hands. He lowered his right arm, shaking it, even though he hated to show even that much vulnerability in front of Peter. It felt like a nerve had been pinched.

“At least I’m off the ground, aren’t I?” Peter raised his brows, dislocating the gun from where it’s been resting.

“Hale.” Chris warned. He wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t like to repeat himself. He wanted Peter away from him, so he could go home and probably burn everything that reminded him of his pain. Or drink an entire bar. That sounded equally satisfying.

“Don’t get worked up. We’ve been doing so good.” Peter paused, tilting his head to the side. “How would you like to get away from here?” Chris did roll his eyes then. Of course, he wanted to get away. It wasn’t Peter Hale’s business though. “Now, now, don’t go making decisions without learning what you say no to.”

“What are you imagining exactly?” Chris asked, annoyed. He rarely showed when he was mad, but he was at the end of his rope here. “That we’re going to bond over our dead families, move in together and you’d get what? Protection from hunters, because you roomed up with one?”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t think you’d figure it out so fast.” Peter tilted his head back and forth, then looked Chris in the eyes. “But yes, that does sound like a rather exquisite plan, doesn’t it?”

“Even if I don’t kill you now, which, don’t have illusions, is going to happen, what about me and my family history makes you believe I’d do anything with you in a non-violent manner?” Chris furrowed his brows, staring at Peter intensely.

“Oh, that’s the fun part, Argent.”

“Is it now.” Chris huffed humourlessly.

“Yes. Because I do have a sweet deal on my hands. And I thought about sharing it with you out of everyone! Isn’t that nice?” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Chris pressed his tongue to his cheek, studying Peter’s almost eager expression. After a long pause, he shifted.

“Yeah, I’m going to shoot you now. Would you mind taking a step back? I just washed my car.” He nodded towards the silver SUV with his head.

“Must you be so difficult?” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Hale.”

“Yes?” Peter raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not moving in with you.”

“Well then.” Peter pressed his lips together, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “It was worth a try.”

The whole thing baffled Chris. Not that Peter acted as if there wasn’t a gun literally pressed to his head. He knew the werewolf could lean away faster than Chris could pull the trigger, and Peter Hale was never famous for being scared of anything. But moving in with him? With a hunter of his own kind? That was just so absurd. He couldn’t make sense of this idea. 

“What’s the point to all of this?” Chris asked with furrowed brows. What was Peter’s endgame? The man looked ready to answer, then he changed his mind and shrugged. Chris studied his face but his expression gave nothing away. He was as calm as an island in the middle of the ocean, his blue eyes holding Chris’ gaze steadily. There was no point to this stare-down. “Go, before I shoot you for real.”

“If you change your mind, come to Diamond Creek.” Peter said as he turned and walked away, letting the shadows of the night swallow his frame. Chris looked after him for a long time, even though he completely disappeared. Then he sighed, putting his gun away and got back into his car.

He sat there for a moment, contemplating staying there like he did every night since Ally’s funeral. If anything, Peter’s presence made him realize how foolish he was acting, sitting vigil outside the cemetery. He turned on the engine with a sigh and slowly drove away. Peter was ready to move on. Was he?

\--

The rental smelled something awful, but after selling almost everything he owned, Chris didn’t have many options left. Selling his things wasn’t an impulse decision, but rolling into the sleepy little town of Diamond Creek had been. It wasn't easy to find. No online maps for it, what's more, no online trace of a place such as that existing at all. After asking around his informants, he bought a paper map as a last resort. There, he found it, on the south side of Oregon, but not too close to the stateline. There it was, the town no one on the internet or the hunter community heard of, like it revealed itself to Chris and Chris alone.

Looking around, he wasn’t surprised to see the town, if one could call it that, consisted of two roads and one grocery store in total. There was a diner on the road that forked off the highway, and after driving all day to get there, he rolled into the parking lot.

It was awfully typical American. It looked to be made of wooden logs on the outside. It had a gorgeous patio outside sitting area. A lot of people sat there, drinking beer and laughing loudly. Chris locked his car, because even though it was unimaginable anyone could be able to steal it this close to the building, it wasn’t unreasonable to be cautious. That’s what he told himself, most of the time.

He pocketed the keys as he strode up the short steps that led to the entrance. It was cozy inside, too. Wooden tables, with a darts target on one wall, where a large group of bulky men stood in a circle, cheering one of them on. Two boys were wearing black aprons and ran around with trays of drinks. Chris was fairly sure they were both underage.

He found an empty table close to the far corner and shed his jacket, making sure his guns weren’t peaking out as he sat. He leaned his forearms on the table, watching the people. They mostly seemed like the after work crowd. Mostly muscular men in simple clothes. Chris wasn’t a weakling but next to them, he felt small. It wasn’t a feeling he often got, so he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

“Hi! I’m Craig, your waiter tonight, what can I get you?” One of the servers stepped up to Chris’ table. He looked up at the boy, not even old enough to shave yet.

“A beer and a steak, medium-rare, if you have it.”

“Anything else?” He scribbled down the order quickly.

“Yeah, I’d need accommodation for the night. Any tips?” The boy frowned at that, scratching his nose. He reminded him of Stiles for a moment, and the muscles in his arm flexed, ready to draw his gun. He made a conscious effort to relax. God, it wasn’t even Stiles who killed Allison. He needed to get a grip.

“You could try Dev’s place, he has an empty apartment, I think, but I have no idea if he’d let you rent for one night. The closest motel is in Medford. Sorry.” The kid shrugged and Chris nodded.

“Thanks anyways.”

“Rudd was almost done for the night last time I checked, so your steak might take a while.” The boy raised his arm to look at his watch. “You’re lucky, we’re this close to shutting down the kitchen for the night.” He held up his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll let Rudd know about your order.” With that, he rushed away.

Chris looked at his own watch. It was quarter to ten. He didn’t even notice it got so late. The kid arrived with his beer fairly soon, announcing they caught Rudd just in time. Chris nodded wordlessly, and thank God there were so many patrons there, because the kid was quickly called away. He leaned back as he sipped his beer, watching as men sat and talked, or played darts. It was slightly relaxing.

He didn’t notice how bad his anxiety got in Beacon Hills, but he had to admit now, he was a million times calmer, even though he was in a strange small town. This was the best place for tourist to disappear without a trace, local authorities - or not so local, given this place didn't seem to have emergency services - telling the family that they had gone hiking only to be found dead in a ditch somewhere. Horror movies could be made in this town and yet, Chris felt completely at ease. What did that say about him?

It wasn’t often that he admitted a weakness. Allison was a huge one, but a predictable one as well. But she wasn’t the only one. As much as he loved her, she wasn’t the first and biggest worry factor in his life. No, those would be the monsters.

Ever since he learned about the supernatural, he lived in a constant state of alarm. He didn’t used to be a light sleeper, but then one night his own father pulled a hood over his head, chained him to a chair and beat him up. He was twelve. His entire youth had been sacrificed to training. He wasn’t going out to party with the other teens at night, he went into the woods and pursued feral werewolves. That gets on one’s nerves after a while.

So why was he doing this? Why was he thinking about shacking up with his very enemy? He believed in the code. He did. Followed it too. It didn’t mean he was a better man than Gerard or Kate were. No, he was certainly not a good man. Peter Hale wasn’t either. Maybe they deserved each other. Maybe this was all Chris deserved after everything he’s done, for being so blind to his own family, for killing werewolves…

Before he could sink deeper into his self-hatred and self-pity, a newcomer appeared by his shoulder. He thought he had a full view of the floor from his spot, but apparently, Peter Hale had the ability to sneak up on Chris at any given time. He dropped himself across Chris. He had an awful woolen jacket over his usual obscene V-neck shirt. An arrogant, smug smirk graced his lips.

“Good evening, Argent.”

“Hale.” Chris subtly reached behind himself.

“I’m surprised. You’re interested, after all?” He asked as he leaned back, drumming on the table-top with one hand. Chris returned the smile, lips pressed together tightly, just to keep up the illusion that they were old friends, not a werewolf and a werewolf hunter sitting across from each other. He couldn’t do much about the tension between them.

“What do you want, Hale?”

“I thought you knew. That’s why you’re here.” He gestured around the room.

“I’m here to figure out what you’re playing at.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s killing you to say that without having a gun trained at me.” Peter grinned, showing off his teeth. Chris cocked an eyebrow, then the gun under the table. Peter’s smile faded at the sound.

“I’ve heard when you get shot, the kneecap just explodes. It sounds painful enough, although…” He blindly adjusted his aim. Having been shooting for all his life, he knew exactly where the barrel pointed at, even without seeing his target. “That’s a good spot, too.” Peter’s arrogant mask dropped and his jaw jumped before he rolled his head. Probably suppressing his shift. Once his eyes were open, they were sharply trained at Chris. “Now, if we’re done playing games, what do you want from me?”

“Derek left.” Peter said after a pause and swallowing. “And I’m not going to obey that _child_.” He almost snarled the word, baring human teeth. “So, I thought…” Slowly but surely, his confidence returned as he leaned back. Chris saw him adjust his legs so he sat cross-legged. He repressed a smirk. “If anyone is going to put me down, once I go feral, it could at least be poetic. An _Argent_.” He said the name with familiar disgust.

“If you ever feel like you’d like to get shot by me, I don’t need to move in for that. Just call me and I’ll drop everything.” Chris grinned and Peter threw his head back as he laughed.

“Oh, Christopher…” He grinned, shaking his head. Craig, Chris’ waiter arrived with his steak. He side-eyed Peter as he put the plate down.

“Good evening, sir. I’m afraid the kitchen just closed for the night, but can I interest you in a drink and a snack?” He smiled at Peter politely. He looked up at the kid, narrowing his eyes.

“A glass of water will do, thank you.” He said after a beat. The kid rushed to get it for him. Chris’ eyebrows rose, but he didn’t comment on the choice. Peter turned back to Chris, studying him with a slightly raised chin. “Well? What do you say?” He looked around. “A quiet little town, you get to shoot me when my time comes…” He trailed off. “Let’s call it mutually beneficial.”

“I don’t want to have a mutual anything with you, Peter.” Chris leaned back and sipped from his beer with his free hand, the other still holding the gun in the cover of his thigh, so it wasn’t visible to other patrons. “Not a mutual town to live in, not a mutual agreement that I get to kill you.”

“Hmm.” Peter tapped his finger on the table-top again. Craig returned with his water.

“Anything else?”

“No, thank you.” Chris answered in Peter’s place, not taking his eyes off the werewolf. Craig nodded and left them staring at each other.

“Well then. I’d offer my sofa, but I’m afraid I can’t let you know where I live, since you’re not going to stay. Your steak will get cold.” He nodded at the plate with his chin. When Chris didn’t move, he rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Christopher.”

“Hale.” Chris nodded as Peter got up and walked out the diner. His water was all the reminder of him ever being there, fat drops rolling down the side of the untouched glass.

\--

Chris leaned comfortably back in his seat as he let go of the wheel, so he only held it with one hand. The scenery changed as he left Oregon. The thick, rich forests were replaced by sparse fields and bushes on the side of the highway. The road wasn’t overly packed, so he could drive at a relatively fast pace. The wind was cold and biting as it blew in the rolled down window, ruffling Chris’ hair and flapping his jacket’s collar.

For the first time in a long time Chris didn’t need to think about anything. He let the hum of the engine and the gravel of the wheels lull him into a meditative state. Usually, when he was left alone with his thoughts, he found himself thinking of Victoria and Allison often. Not now though, maybe for the first time since the funeral. It’s been almost two weeks. Only two, measly weeks and he was already better.

He felt guilty. He felt like he betrayed Allison’s memory by not thinking about her all the time. About her smile, her pink sundress when she was five. There were so many things he felt guilty about, some days it seemed like he couldn’t breathe.

He meant to stop in San Francisco. He didn’t. He didn’t stop until he neared the Mexican border and felt like he had enough of the road. He drove to the beach. He wasn’t even looking for being alone, but he found a spot where the shore was probably too rocky for everyone else and just stood there, watching the waves. He stood there and let himself feel guilty about all those things.

Once the shadows elongated, he got back in the car and continued driving.

\--

“I have conditions.” That was how he greeted Peter when the door to his apartment opened. It was in a house on the only side street the town had. It looked like it used to be a B&B. He asked around, and since their little talk two days prior, half the town knew now that the man who just moved here knew the weird tourist who was rough around the edges. They had no problem telling him where Peter lived.

“Argent. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Peter’s eyebrows rose. He opened the door in just briefs and with his hair damp. It was early, so Chris suspected he had just started his day. “I only offer coffee if the gun stays in its holster. You won’t shoot me in my own apartment.”

“From what I hear you’re just renting it.” Chris rolled his eyes, but pulled away his jacket to show his shoulder holsters with his weapons, then dropped the jacket back in place. He picked up the old habit after Allison's death - now that he didn't need to put up a front of a peaceful suburban dad, he could keep his guns at a more comfortable spot. Peter hesitated for a beat, looking at Chris with narrowed eyes, but then he stepped to the side, making a wide gesture with his hand.

“Coffee?” Peter asked as he closed the door. He went around Chris to the sofa, picking up a pair of jeans. He pushed his nose into the fabric, then shrugged, pulling it on but not buttoning up.

“No, thanks.”

“I store my poisons elsewhere.” Peter rolled his eyes as he walked in the kitchen. “Well, I could get creative, but it’s too early for that.” He poured coffee into two mugs, sliding one in front of Chris. He didn’t pick it up, just cocked an eyebrow. Peter shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I won’t move in with you.”

“Christopher, I distinctly remember you saying you don’t like to repeat yourself. I could be mistaken, though, there was a, hmm, gun trained at my head at the time.” He tilted his head to the side. Chris raised his gaze heavenward.

“I mean I won’t live in the same house as you.”

“But you’re moving to Diamond Creek.” Peter sounded questioning, although his statement wasn’t one. “What changed your mind?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Fair enough.” He inclined his head, leaning against the kitchen counter. “And you came to inform me why, exactly?”

“Because if we’re going to live in the same town, we need to stay out of each other’s hair.” Chris stated. Peter’s eyebrows rose.

“I’m moving just outside town, so it shouldn’t be a problem. As far as I’m aware, this is the only available place to rent, so you can just stay here.” He looked around. “It’s not much, but better than your car.”

“And where do you suppose I store my guns?” He gestured around. “This place is too small. Is there really no other house or apartment to rent?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Peter shrugged.

“I’m not a real estate agent, Christopher. Aim those questions to one. I have my own place, it just needs some improvement, that’s why I’m living here at the moment.”

“And where is this mysterious place of yours?” Peter narrowed his eyes at him.

“Now it wouldn’t be mysterious if I told you, would it.” He smirked.

“Hale.”

“Argent. I thought you wanted to stay out of my hair.”

“I wanted you to. But in order to avoid you, I need to know where you’ll be living.”

“Curious, are we?” Peter lowered himself, so he was leaning on the kitchen counter with his elbows. “Let me make you a deal. I tell you where the house is and you tell me why you changed your mind. It’s only fair, after all. If I give something up, I expect something from you in return.”

“Fine.” Chris drew in a deep breath through his nose, held it for a moment, then slowly let it out. It was both to calm himself and to think through what exactly was he going to tell Peter. He couldn’t tell him the truth, because in reality, he didn’t know himself why he changed his mind. He just knew nothing felt right since Allison’s death, and this was, possibly, the first time since that he felt something akin normal. “I wanted to get away from Beacon Hills, but not so far that I couldn’t be close to Allison’s grave.”

“I think sometimes you forget I’m a werewolf.” Peter tilted his head to the side, but other than that, he didn’t push. He straightened up, taking a long drag from his coffee. “The house is four miles out of town, towards Portland. There’s a dirt road leading up to it.”

Chris knew it was his paranoia getting the better of him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Peter’s answer really sounded too quick or too unrealistic. A house in the middle of the woods? What was Peter, a cartoon villain?

“I want to see it.” Peter’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline.

“It’s a house, Christopher. What could be so interesting about it that you need to see it?”

“Show me, or the gun comes out.” He already reached towards his holster. Peter rolled his eyes, then licked his lips.

“Don’t think this is because of your threat. We both know I’d be able to un-arm you within two seconds, but I actually need to be at the house in…” he looked around, found his phone on the kitchen counter and activated the screen to look at the time. “In ten minutes. I’m going to change. You’re free to wait for me in your car.” He didn’t move, just raised expectant eyebrows.

Chris studied him for a moment, then nodded, turning and walking out. He let go of some of his tension once in his rental, closing his eyes and just breathed. He really needed some sort of outlet, or maybe he should learn how to meditate. Driving was a good substitute, but whatever he was feeling now wouldn’t go away after a day of driving around.

It was more than that. He didn’t even know what he felt. Anxious, nervous, unreasonably afraid, sad, angry, excited… There was just too much. His head hurt from trying to figure it out, so he turned his attention to the building’s entrance. Peter walked out not more than two minutes into Chris sitting in his car and got into a Land Rover Cross-Country. Chris blinked at that, surprised. He took Peter for more of a sports car type, in fact, he remembered hearing rumors of him owning two.

He followed the other car down the street, onto the highway, then towards where the road led to Portland. Chris thought they were going to be late for Peter’s appointment, but not long after they left town, Peter signaled to the right, and turned down a dirt-road. Chris’ rental wasn’t the best vehicle for this drive. The cross-country seemed completely at ease, which made Peter owning a car like that make sense.

After a mile or two there was a “Private property, no trespassing, violators will be prosecuted” sign. After another mile, the house finally came into view.

It wasn’t much of a house, really. It was just a small wooden cabin, with a silver pickup parked in front of it and two men waiting. Peter parked by the truck, hopping out with a pleasant expression. Chris pulled next to him and got out as well. He didn’t know why. He was just supposed to see the location then leave, not stay and poke his nose in other people’s business.

For all he knew, those two strangers could be werewolves as well. He could get ripped apart right there and nobody would ever be the wiser. Nobody would even look for him. His daughter just died. He left Beacon Hills without a word. Nobody knew where he was, and those who knew him didn’t even question his choices.

He supposed he should be the number one advocate for that. Questioning his own choices, as he walked towards the strangers and possibly the most dangerous ‘wolf he knew, seemed like a sound idea. Too bad Chris wasn’t in a reasonable mood.

“Another expert, Peter?” One of the men, the tall, dark-skinned one asked as he held his hand out for Chris. “Richard Rowan. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Christopher Silver.” He nodded, shaking the hand very briefly. It seemed like he had at least some common sense buried deep in his unconscious. He didn’t even think before using a fake name. Well, technically it wasn’t fake, hence why he used it, so werewolves wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Adrian Pollack.” The other man introduced, and they shook hands as well.

“Right.” Peter was watching Chris, then turned to Richard and Adrian. “Richie is my contractor; Adrian is my architect. Christopher is… Christopher isn’t here in a professional manner.” He smiled tightly, clearly uncomfortable. Good. Chris enjoyed having the upper hand for once.

“I see.” Richie smiled awkwardly at Chris. “Alright, so, are we ready to take a look?”

“We noticed some things we need to address.” Adrian said, rubbing a finger under his nose.

“Yes, lets.” Peter nodded, glancing at Chris from the corner of his eyes. Richie led them towards the house.

“So, the first thing you notice is the water damage.” He said as he gestured at the walls. “The cabin is old and hasn’t been maintained for a while. John said it’s been sitting here unused for the past eight years, correct?”

“If John said so.” Peter nodded, studying the building.

“Well, the weather hadn’t been gracious to it.” Adrian said, walking up to the wall and kicking at the bottom log. Some splinters came off. “The foundation isn’t the best either. As I see, it’s just enough so the bottom doesn’t soak through.” He crouched and pointed. Peter threw a cautious glance in Chris’ way before following his example. Chris leaned down, supporting his weight with his hands on his knees.

“There’s more, but let’s address the biggest things first,” Richie advised as he opened the door and gestured them inside. The cabin was really small inside. At least it looked it. It was one room, the kitchen, living room and a bed in one corner. There was a fireplace in the middle of the far wall. It looked abandoned and smelled like wet earth and rotting wood.

“I certainly know what I don’t like about it right away.” Peter mentioned with a frown towards the right-hand wall, where only a small window let in some light by the bed.

“John said you loved it the first time you two came out to check it out.” Adrian said with raised brows. Peter nodded.

“When I bought it, I didn’t plan on living here full time. For short visits it seemed perfect.”

“But not long term.” Adrian nodded, looking around as if he saw it in a new light. “We could add some room in the back. What I saw from the back yard, I wouldn’t be sad to see it go.”

“No, me neither.” Peter agreed.

“So we could do that. Plus, we’re in Oregon, also right by _Diamond’s_ , so getting the lumber material for it shouldn’t be a problem at all.” Richie added. Chris frowned and thought about not making a comment, but since he was here, he could be helpful at least.

“Wooden logs sound like a fire hazard waiting to happen.” He sent a pointed look in Peter’s direction. The wolf tilted his head to the side, puzzled.

“That’s true. Plus, lumber is expensive, even though it would come fast and easy. There’s some ceramic we sometimes recommend those who’re wishing to have the real wood look but not the feel. We could also make it from metal, clearly that would be the cheapest, but you said you liked the natural aspect of it.” He addressed Peter, who nodded. “My number one recommendation would be the ceramic, solely because it’s an easy installation as well. Plaster sculpted to look like real wood would work as well.”

“How much bigger could we make it?” Peter asked as he ran his tongue over his teeth. Richie shrugged and Adrian said:

“As big as you want, really. With the currently available space, around three times as big as it is now.”

“Alright.” Peter nodded after a pause and taking in the interior. “Get rid of it all.” Richie’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “If we demolish it, we can start from scratch.”

“A very confident attitude.” Richie nodded. “We like that. I could hire some hands to start next month.” Peter frowned.

“How about start tomorrow?” Chris surprised even himself by asking. Peter turned to him with an eye roll.

“That tired of sleeping in your car?”

“Remember what I told you about kneecaps?” He glanced down pointedly. Peter’s eyes narrowed. He watched Chris for a minute, then turned back to Richie.

“I’d like you to start this week, if it’s at all possible. Money isn’t a problem.” Of course, it wasn’t. Chris almost rolled his eyes.

“I think that can be done, but definitely not by tomorrow. Two weeks is the minimum I need.” Richie looked over at Adrian in question. “That works for you too?"

Adrian nodded. “Let me get back to you with a plan and while the demolition team works on this, we can settle on a design.”

“Great.” Peter nodded.

\--

Adrian and Richie left, driving away, leaving Chris alone with Peter. He looked over at the ‘wolf, who was tense, but not nervous. Just alert, Chris guessed. He was, too.

“This is a great place.” Chris mentioned, not knowing why exactly did he feel the need to fill the silence. He was desperate to distract himself from why he chimed in to Peter’s plans, why he got out of his car and didn’t just drive away as soon as he learned the location.

“Yeah it is.” Peter looked over at him, eyes narrowed and sharp.

“Spacious, once the new plan’s drawn.” Chris cringed inwardly. Really, was he that guy now? Making small talk?

“No.” Peter said almost immediately, turning to Chris. “No.” He repeated. Chris raised his eyebrows in question. “You said you didn’t want to be roomies. Don’t go back on your word now, Argent.” He snarled, baring human teeth. Chris rolled his eyes.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who invited me to move in with you. Technically, you’re the one going back on your word.” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest. Peter’s jaw was working, visibly clenching his teeth.

“And you said no.” He replied, mirroring Chris’ stance. “Maybe you should’ve considered my offer more thoroughly.” Chris didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. Peter didn’t seem to like that much, because the muscles in his arm jumped before he said: “Fine. I never said when the offer expires. But this is still my house. My property. So, leave, before I call the police for trespassing.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Chris almost gave himself away with a smirk, then turned to go back to his car. Before he could close the door, Peter added:

“And I guess you could stay on my couch until the house is finished.” He grumbled. “The least you could do is invest your money in this instead of spending it on hotel rooms.”

“I’ll see you around, Hale.” Chris said, then shut the door and drove away.

\--

Chris didn’t move in until he bought a new car. He didn’t know why was that such an important threshold to pass. He guessed he needed to feel control of at least one thing in his life. With his few remaining movables in storage, homeless and renting a car, he felt like he relied too much on other people, other things than himself. So he bought a 4X4 that had the room for his stock and took the terrain around the cabin with grace as well.

Peter wasn’t home when he moved in. He brought some weapons with him that he strategically placed around the apartment, dropped his duffle at the end of the couch and that was it. He was moved in. As he stood there, looking around, he thought it was a little ridiculous that all he had was three shirts and two pants on him in a duffle, but he felt settled and at home the moment he strapped twelve guns around.

He went a little off the map after everything that’s happened in Beacon Hills, so for the next few hours he borrowed Peter’s laptop – the latest MacBook model, of course. His password was impossible to guess, so Chris didn’t even try. He didn’t need to snoop around Peter’s things anyways, so he just created an account for himself. He worked on emailing most of his past clients, some new, did some inventory.

By the time Peter got home, Chris was comfortably spread out across the coffee table, his notebook and papers all over the small surface and the couch. Peter paused just inside the door when he entered, but then without a word continued towards the kitchen.

He didn’t offer Chris dinner, and Chris didn’t bother to ask if he was allowed to take food – he dug into the half-filled fridge, finding some sausages and eggs to cook for himself. Peter disappeared in the bedroom after he was finished with his own meal.

They didn’t interact much. Some days Peter stayed at home, took back his laptop and closed himself in the bedroom. Other days Chris left to work. He set up his base in Salem, so his clients never learned where he really lived. It was a pain, some days he was too tired to drive home, and then he spent the night at some hotel or another. When he got back, everything was always as he left it, as if Peter kept his distance from Chris’ things.

The only interactions they really had were to hurry each other in the bathroom. They even bought their own groceries, and the bottom of the fridge became Peter’s half and the top Chris’. He never asked and Peter never brought up how much rent he owed, so he just left some money on the counter with a note. It was gone the next morning without question.

“Christopher.” Peter greeted him one day just as he arrived from one of his three-day trips to Salem late at night. Getting used to living with Peter like he was a ghost, he was momentarily startled by the other man talking to him. Peter was standing at the kitchen counter, his laptop open in front of him. There was a bottle and a glass of wine next to Peter’s hand where he leaned on the stone over his laptop.

“Yeah.” He furrowed his brows, studying the werewolf.

“Adrian sent me the floor plans.” He gestured at his laptop before picking up his glass of wine and stepped away to look through the cabinets. “Take a look, since you’re going to live there as well, you might as well have an opinion. Just don’t expect me to respect it.”

“Of course not.” Chris rolled his eyes, stepping over to look at the screen, turning, so he didn’t have to show his back to Peter as he studied the blueprints.

“If you need help understanding it, just let me know.” There was that arrogant tone in Peter’s voice again, which made Chris itch to reach for his gun. He didn’t reply, just learned what he could of the picture. There would be an open kitchen and living room where the current cabin stood, so other than their size nothing really changed in that set-up. Behind the living room would be the master bedroom, then a guest room with a guest bath at the other end of the cabin. Chris frowned at that plan, but flipped to the next image when he saw there was one. It was the plan for the second floor, with half of it being balcony and two rooms that didn’t get a purpose.

“The master bedroom doesn’t make sense there.” He said as he flipped back. Peter stepped next to him, holding up another glass. Chris raised his eyebrow and Peter rolled his eyes. Chris shrugged, taking the drink. It was a very potent and rich smelling wine, so he sipped from it appreciatively.

“What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?”

“It’s too closed off. If you wanted to escape quickly, you’d need a second door on this side…” Chris pointed to the living room wall. “And that would be too many entry points on one wall. If you move the master suite to where the guest room is now, you’d have a backdoor where you can escape. You could move the guest room here, maybe even put in two, since this much room for a guest seems like waste of space.”

“I’m planning on living there, not greet a gangster organization through the front door.” Peter frowned at him.

“You never know.” Chris shrugged. “Besides, I thought you’d feel more comfortable being able to escape at a moment’s notice in case… In case anything happened.” He clenched his teeth together.

“Oh, Argent, I didn’t know you care.” Chris rolled his eyes, looking at Peter. The werewolf had a small, arrogant smile on his lips, the skin around his eyes wrinkling.

“You asked for my opinion.” Chris gestured at the screen.

“No, not really.” Peter narrowed his eyes, studying Chris like he said something puzzling. His lips were still curled up, but the smirk gentled into a smile as he concentrated on whatever he saw on Chris’ face.

“Well, you have it anyways.” He straightened up, not liking their proximity. The movement seemed to break some sort of spell, because Peter tipped his chin up, his neutral mask returning. Despite Chris being taller, Peter always seemed to be the biggest man in the room, his presence dominating. Chris had to admit, if he didn’t know better, he’d think he was still an alpha. It made him slightly uncomfortable, and he stepped back to put some more distance between them.

“Right. I’ll let Richie know about some changes.” Peter said as he pointedly turned back to his laptop. Chris nodded and with the wine still in his hand, he returned to the living room. The couch was much more uncomfortable than the beds he used in hotels while he was away, but he got used to it in the short few weeks he’d been living there. It was almost a welcoming comfort to settle in.

\--

Chris didn’t visit the cabin. He didn’t know that much about construction to determine how well things were going and Peter seemed to be on top of things. Chris had been home for a few days when Peter asked him, for the first time, if he’d like to go and see it.

“I’m driving out. Richie wants to ask about a few things, and we should see how it’s going anyways. You’re welcome to join.” Peter said as he pulled a shirt over his head, hair still damp from his earlier shower. Chris repressed a yawn. He’d been working on invoices all morning, and he slept poorly the night before, so he was absolutely beat. The moody weather didn’t help, but he thought maybe some fresh air and change of scenery would actually be good.

“Yeah. Let me change.” He pushed the laptop off his lap, stretching as he stood. He leaned down to look through his duffle for a pair of jeans.

“You should go to a chiropractor, or exercise more.” Peter commented as he pulled a water bottle from the fridge, taking a long pull. Chris furrowed his brows as he pulled on the pants.

“I’m not lazy, I just had a bad night.” He argued.

“I know. I heard you tossing and turning all night.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I meant your joints make a noise like a tree breaking in half. It’s… disturbing.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s cute that you think I’m worried about your health.” Peter grinned. “I’m merely looking out for myself. That sound is disgusting and I don’t wish to hear it much.”

“I’ll start doing yoga, just for you.” Chris rolled his eyes. Peter snorted, but then dropped the topic, so they could get going. They drove out in their respective cars, pulling into the small space left available by the container they had there for trash and cars that belonged to the workers. Richie greeted them almost as soon as they stepped out of their cars.

“Mr. Silver, Peter, good to see you again.” He smiled at them as he shook their hands. There was a hard hat on the top of his head and a clipboard in his hand.

“Call me Chris, please.” Chris insisted and Richie nodded.

“Of course. As you can see, we have the whole framing up, and the garage done.” He turned around to gesture at the house. It seemed half-finished already, which Chris didn’t expect. There were already some kind of sheets put up as walls and a concrete semi-underground garage without a door. Chris suspected the weather wasn’t helping matters as he noticed a significant puddle collected on the bottom of the garage.

It was big enough for two cars, which meant the house wasn’t only deeper towards the back, but wider as well. Now it seemed to dominate the space between the two biggest trees to the side. The workers were obviously cautious with those trees, they put some boards around their trunks, as if to shield them.

“This looks great so far.” Peter nodded. Richie smiled and gestured them to follow him as he led them up the to-be porch and to the front door that didn’t have a door yet.

“Mandatory headwear,” he picked up two hard hats from the ground by the entrance. Both Peter and Chris put them on, even if Chris felt ridiculous in them. Or he just projected, because the vibrant yellow, wide plastic hat looked so alien on Richie’s shaved, dark-skinned head.

“We already have installation up, as you can see,” He said as he gestured towards the walls. “I wanted to have you here to check everything is up to your liking, because this is still the point where we can tear it off and replace windows or doors, but not once we start on the inner walls and the faux logs.”

Peter walked around the first room that was going to become the open kitchen and living room. There were three holes in the outer walls – two on the kitchen’s side, where a side door was planned and one window Chris suspected would be above either the sink or the stove. The third one was on the living room side, to the right from the entrance. It was floor to ceiling, so Chris suspected the main garden would be on that side.

“I like it.” Peter nodded, satisfied. “It feels airy.”

“That was the target.” Richie seemed pleased.

“And this should be where the two guest rooms and the guest bath would be, correct?” Peter walked past the living room, down what was already a dark hallway. So far, that was probably Chris’ least favorite part of the build.

“Yes. As you can see, the piping is already done.” He gestured into one of the rooms. Not that it was easy to tell it was a room, there was only a maze of wooden beams up at the moment. “And of course, the master suite.” Richie led them to the back of the house through a doorway into another spacious room.

The workers were there, working on the installation. Richie nodded to them, but didn’t introduce anyone as he waited for Chris and Peter to check out the room. It had two smaller sections cut off with future walls. Since Chris didn’t see the changed plans, he stuck his head inside the one where piping wasn’t visible.

“And this would be?” He asked curiously.

“The walk-in.” Richie said. “And over there the back door.” Chris nodded while Peter walked around. There were a few windows, and even without the final walls up and the décor, Chris already sensed just how cozy it would be. It surprised him that Peter agreed to it, figured him more of a high-end, modern type, but the werewolf looked around proudly and self-satisfied.

“And the second floor?” He asked. Richie shifted.

“We’re a bit behind with that. Since you said you wanted to move in as soon as possible, we concentrated on the living space.” He led them out the room to where a narrow staircase led straight up behind the guest rooms. He paused on top of it. “I don’t advise you to walk around, because the floor is unstable, but you can see what we have so far.” He gestured around another set of wooden beams.

“Alright. I guess we have time to worry about that later.” Peter’s mouth set in an unsatisfied frown, but he didn’t voice his thoughts as he turned to go back downstairs.

“Anything else that comes to mind, guys?” Richie asked as they walked down the hallway into the main room. They came to a stop just inside, Chris glancing back at the hallway.

“I don’t really like how dark the hallway is.” Peter’s eyebrows rose at Chris’ comment as he looked over at Richie.

“Could we do a full wall of windows down there too?” Peter asked. Richie didn’t seem fond of the idea.

“We could, if we reinforced this side with steel poles, but for that, we’d need to break up the foundation to insert them…” he seemed hesitant before he pressed his lips together and shook his head. “The best we can do without rendering our current progress useless is to add some regular windows.” Peter shook his head.

“That seems awkward.”

“It does.” Richie nodded. Chris had to agree.

“Right. I guess it doesn’t matter, we wouldn’t be spending much time there anyways.” Peter nodded.

“Sorry.” Richie smiled at Chris apologetically, but he just shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal. “If the rest seems fine, we can start on the inner walls today, and hopefully have all of them standing by the beginning of next week.”

“What are the inner walls going to look like?” Chris asked as he touched one of the beams that acted as a doorway.

“Well, that was another thing I was going to ask you. So, the outer walls are going to be faux logs, both from the outside and inside. I was thinking some of the support walls could carry that detail but there’s no point in making all the rooms’ walls like that, especially the guest rooms, since they’re already small enough. The faux logs would make it look even smaller.”

“I think the bedroom should be covered with it,” Peter said, “but otherwise, I don’t have a preference.”

“Yeah. Maybe the outer walls of the guest rooms as well, this room as well. The inside of the guest rooms and the walk in and the bathrooms don’t need it, I don’t think.” Chris said as he leaned against the doorway. Richie nodded.

“You still haven’t decided about a tile and the flooring.” He told Peter as he pulled a pen from his pocket, writing something down.

“Right. Other things held my attention.”

“Well, you have the samples from Adrian, so pick one and email the serial number by next week.”

“Excellent.”

“But if we do drywall in the guest rooms, you should pick a paint color as well. I’ll ask Adrian for suggestions and you can send them over with the tiles.” Peter nodded. “Alright. Oh!” Richie put his pen away as he reached back. For a moment, Chris thought he was going to pull a gun, and he tensed, his hand coming up to touch the handle of his own gun. Peter shot him a sharp look as Richie pulled a bag out of his back pocket. “I’ve got some samples. I meant to send them over but figured if you come out anyways, I can just give it to you now.”

He handed over the bag to Peter, who uncovered some sample sized tiles. Chris stepped closer, seeing it was some kind of plaster or ceramic, probably, that looked like logs. There were dark ones, light ones, deeply veined, smooth… Peter shifted, going over to where a wooden sheet was laid on some sort of sawhorse, like a table, in the middle of the living room and spread them out on the surface.

Chris picked up a medium light one with shallowly veined craving. It was heavier than he thought it would be. He ran his finger over it, then tapped on it with his fingernails. Peter was petting a medium dark one with heavy veining.

“These are all ceramic?” He asked without looking away. Richie hummed, stepping closer.

“This one, this… and this, these aren’t.” He picked three that had a rougher surface. As Chris tapped on one it didn’t have the same glassy click, but a muffled, paper-like echo. He rubbed one of them, feeling it grating on his skin.

“These are plaster, right?” He asked. Richie nodded. “All of them are this rough?”

“Yeah, it’s more porous than the ceramic ones. They’re less water-proof as well, but they’re cheaper and lighter.”

“I don’t like them.” Peter frowned, picking up the ceramic sample Chris had been touching. “I like this, but also this shade.” He put the one he’d been examining earlier next to it. Chris nodded.

“I think that would be great here.”

“Alright!” Richie sounded surprised. “We like a client who knows what he wants. Let me just…” he took the samples and turned them so their serial numbers were visible and wrote down their order. “I’m obliged to warn you this will probably be the most expensive part of the décor.”

“Money isn’t a problem.” Peter nodded. “Especially now that I have an investor.” He smirked at Chris. Chris just shrugged, not riled up at all – he was going to be moving in here. The least he could do was help out with what he could.

“Good. Then I’ll order them right away, so they can hopefully go up this month, but I won’t make promises.” He nodded. “I think that’s all I wanted to talk to you about now. If anything comes to mind, I’ll call you.”

“And I’ll get on with choosing a tile and flooring.” Peter nodded. “When do you estimate we could move in with the rate things are going?” Peter reached up to rub his growing out beard between his fingers, tugging thoughtfully. Chris’ gaze was captivated by the movement.

“It’s hard to say.” Richie frowned. “We’ve made amazing progress so far, it had been a rush, but it’s definitely the quickest we’ve ever worked. I’d say, if things continue to go so smoothly, two or three months.”

“Alright.” Peter nodded, taking a last look around. “It all looks good. Of course, I know nothing about construction.” He smirked and Richie laughed.

“Yeah, it seems like a mess to the amateur eye, I’m sure. But it is. It’s going great. It’s going to be a gorgeous home.”

“Yeah. Oh, one more thing.” He paused. “Could you get someone to show Christopher the shed?” He turned to Chris. “You could keep your… goods there, so the house doesn’t stink from them.” Peter didn’t want wolfsbane bullets in his space, which was probably wise. Chris nodded.

Richie called over a worker, Carl, to lead Chris away from the cabin, towards the woods. The shed seemed to be in just as bad condition as the cabin was, but he saw new beams laid in front of it, and Carl told him they were just going to reinforce the framing and replace problematic parts of the wall. It honestly looked fine as it was now, but Chris suspected he was going to spend quite some time there, so he appreciated the changes.

The scary part wasn’t even that he was already thinking about the house as his, but as home. He stood there, watching the run-down shed with Carl uncomfortably shifting next to him and imagined himself living there with Peter. With coffee-colored walls, yellow lights warming the inside, crisp, white sheets against his skin in the morning, sunlight breaching through the windows. He imagined sitting on the porch with a cup of warm, bitter tea, Peter in the other chair, chin tilted up in his usual, arrogant manner, looking out at the woods, both of them lost in memories of their family, of happier times.

It was almost too much. He needed to leave, right now. He turned, and with Carl on his heels, stormed back, past the cabin without going inside, past the tree that covered the yard from the front of the house. Carl was jogging to catch up with him, but he didn’t slow down as he got into his car and rushed away. Only once he was past the no trespassing sign did he notice he still had the hard hat on, probably why Carl was so eager to catch up with him. He pulled it off and dropped it on the passenger seat.

\--

“I didn’t take you for the running away type.” Peter greeted him two days later as Chris entered the apartment. Chris ignored him where he was just pouring himself some coffee in the kitchen, with an honest to God bathrobe on. Peter didn’t read his signs when he plopped down on the couch, looking for his phone charger. “Did you change your mind again? Because I have to say, I expected you to stick to your guns.” He chuckled. “Not just literally.”

“I’m not in the mood, Peter.” Chris grumbled as his phone came to life with several missed calls, texts and emails, none of them from Peter. The werewolf hummed, leaning on the counter, studying Chris from afar. Chris tried to ignore him by busying himself with his phone, but he could feel Peter staring at the side of his head. “What?”

“I’m just puzzled, because last time I checked, you were completely committed. I don’t like people who back down. It represents a weak personality.”

“Oh, like I care about what you think of me.” Chris rolled his eyes. “And I’m not backing down. I just needed a moment to breathe. I know the concept of grieving is alien to you, but we, normal people, have feelings.” Chris didn’t even know what possessed him to say that, but he didn’t regret it. Peter paused before huffing a humorless laugh.

“Out of all people, I expected you to understand me the best. That’s why I went to you, you know, not to my family. Because they don’t understand. But I expected better of you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Clearly.” Chris deadpanned. “If you’re finished, could we go back to avoiding each other?” He turned his head slightly, not looking at Peter, but making it clear he addressed him.

“Of course.” Peter sounded pissed and as Chris looked over, he saw him pick up his cup so a generous amount of coffee splashed over the rim, onto Peter’s hand and the floor. Peter disappeared in his bedroom without another word. Chris didn’t understand the lump in his throat at his stormy expression and did his best not to think about it as he went back to his phone.

\--

Chris’ days didn’t get better after that. As expected, in the past few weeks he’d been living with Peter, he had good days and bad days, but after their fight, a new normal set in. Chris constantly had bad days and most of the time he didn’t feel like even leaving the couch. He forced himself to do so anyways, because he couldn’t go silent after connecting with the real word again.

He thought he got better. He thought that those good days he had, that ease he felt living with his biggest enemy meant he was getting over it. His grief or Ally’s death, he didn’t know. Guilt ate at him, yes, but he felt okay. Now, it seemed karma got back to him for that semblance of normal.

He was sure Peter could tell he didn’t feel okay. For one, there was no hiding his muffled sobs at night, when he was supposed to sleep. His eyes were constantly red and stinging because of it too. He felt worn out and hollow. He didn’t want to go back to the place he was after Allison’s funeral, when he spent days sleeping in his car, just to feel closer to her, but he couldn’t help the feeling of utter hopelessness.

There was no one left. Not Ally, not Victoria, not even his little sister or his father. As much as he hated them for what they’d done, they were family. They were his comfort growing up, even if his memories were of harsh words and harsh blows, of screaming matches and hair-pulling – on his part, Kate was more of a kicking him in the genitals type – they were the people who were always there for him when he went home.

Then Ally became his family when she was born and now, he lost her too. Maybe, he thought, maybe there was something wrong with him, losing everyone he loved one way or another. He was sure a shrink would have a field day with him, but he refused to even go there mentally. He didn’t need someone in a fake-homey office with a notepad in their lap and an uncomfortable couch to tell him how he felt. He tried that with Victoria, and it archived nothing.

He went through the motions, telling himself he was fine. That he was stronger than to let grief dictate his life. Because he _was_ . He just needed to find that place in himself again, that will to move on and not get crushed by his own emotions. He didn’t _want_ to live without Ally, but he _could_.

\--

He was surprised to hear laughter as he entered the apartment. He just got back from a five-day trip. The first thing he noticed was Peter and an unfamiliar man sitting on the couch, Chris’ things folded neatly in one corner, so were his scattered papers on the coffee table to leave room for a wine bottle and one glass, the other in Peter’s hand as he sat comfortably with one leg on the cushions, the other propped on the table, resting back against the armrest. The other man had gray hair, and he sat awkwardly, like he wasn’t completely comfortable, but he wasn’t tense at all.

“Hi,” the man greeted as he stood, turning towards Chris. As he faced him, Chris noticed one of his arms was missing from the shoulder, the remaining sleeve of his light blue button-down folded over and hanging limply. He extended his hand. “I’m John Cross.”

“Chris Silver.” He shook his hand briefly, dropping his duffle on top of his folded bedding.

“Sorry for hogging your bed.” John grinned at Peter, who returned it tersely.

“That’s alright.” Chris didn’t know what to do. Offer to leave? Go to the kitchen and pretend to work on Peter’s laptop?

“John is the one who sold me the cabin. He came down to take a look.” Peter offered.

“It looks amazing so far. I can’t wait to see it finished.”

“Me too.” Chris smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have some work to do, can I go in the bedroom?” He asked Peter, who shrugged.

“Please, stay. I’d like to know a little more about Peter’s new packmate.” John gestured at the sofa. Chris furrowed his brows, looking over Peter, tensing. He didn’t wear his holster today, only had his backup on his ankle on him. The other guns were in the car. He hadn’t expected company, let alone a werewolf.

“I’m sure Christopher’s work is urgent.” Peter replied in his place. “Let’s not keep him from it. Feel free to go wherever.” He pointedly raised his eyebrows at Chris. He considered staying, just to annoy Peter, but he didn’t actually want to, so he nodded.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyhow.” John sighed. “I’ll make sure to say goodbye when I leave.” Chris nodded to him, turning to pick up Peter’s laptop and went into the bedroom.

He’d never been inside, but he wasn’t surprised to find a neutral room, much like a hotel room. The bed was neatly made, unlike how Chris usually left his in the state he got out of it. There was a book on the bedside table, and as Chris sat on the edge, he picked it up to read the title. According to the synopsis it played in an alternate reality where dragons fought during the Napoleonic Wars. He never pegged Peter as the fantasy book type, let alone one about dragons. He raised his eyebrows, curious, but he put the book back to its place.

He started out on the edge of the bed with the laptop carefully balanced on his knees, but after a while, he scooted back until his back was to the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of himself, with the computer in his lap. He didn’t actually have any work to do, but he busied himself with some anyways, looking up other type of guns he could sell, some reliable items from the dark web that would help with hunting…

Peter and John weren’t overly loud during the night. John stayed late; it was almost midnight by the time he left. Mostly, they seemed to talk in quiet tones about serious topics. Chris didn’t eavesdrop. For one, he wasn’t overly interested, secondly, they were too quiet to be heard from Chris’ spot. They were also werewolves; they’d have heard if Chris was doing anything but what he said he would.

After he heard the door shut, John not saying goodbye like he promised he would, which didn’t bother Chris at all, Peter rummaged around the kitchen for a minute before appearing in the doorway. Chris was too deep on a site where he usually ordered wolfsbane from to get up then and go back to his own spot.

“John left.”

“I heard, Peter, I’m human, not deaf.” He grumbled as he typed a quick comment on the forum, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“I don’t really see the difference.” Peter said condescendingly. Chris’ jaw twitched, but he kept typing instead of replying. Peter sighed and came deeper in the room, plopping down next to Chris. “What’s so interesting?” He asked as he leaned over to see the screen. There was a pause while he was reading over the comment Chris was replying to.

“Giving hunting advice over the internet?” He sounded baffled. “Seriously?”

“Why, how do you give advice to someone from Russia? Call them?” Chris mumbled, not really paying attention on what he was saying.

“Well, for one, I wouldn’t.” Peter drawled and it shocked a snort out of Chris as he looked over at him. Peter had an amused expression on his face. His naturally narrow eyes were hooded, so there wasn’t much to see, but Chris could tell he was somewhat intoxicated at least.

“How much wine did it take to get you drunk?” He asked, amused as well. He didn’t know how they went from being awkwardly passive aggressive towards each other to sitting – well, half lying down, Peter leaning on his elbow by Chris’ hips, his legs stretched out in an angle so his feet were hanging over the edges – next to one another, sharing amused grins.

“I’m not drunk.” Peter rolled his eyes. “A little tipsy, maybe. We’ve had three bottles.” He wrinkled his nose. Chris found the expression almost… endearing. He turned back to the laptop. “You could tell them we grow wings on the full moons.” Peter said after a few seconds of Chris typing. When he looked over, he saw Peter biting his lips. When his hands stopped on the keyboard, Peter looked up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Chris rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind the gesture. He turned back to writing. Peter watched the screen quietly, not commenting until Chris got to describe the effects of mountain ash.

“Do you think he even saw a werewolf in his life?” Chris hummed questioningly. “I mean, if you have to explain every little thing to him, he can’t know all that much.”

“I like to be thorough.” Chris shrugged as he slipped lower on the bed. His ass thanked him for the break, after the hours long drive and sitting in one place, even if it was a bed, it was starting to smart.

“You should just write a whole manual and link it to them.”

“I have one.” Chris mentioned offhandedly. “It’s just not fool-proof.”

“Because writing… ‘Place the emitters on strategically beneficial spots’ is?” Peter scratched his cheek where his beard got fuller and fuller by the day. Chris let his own grow out a little too, but he kept it neatly trimmed.

“I didn’t say it was.” He argued lightheartedly. “But my manual is even less so.”

“But… Do you really have a manual?” Peter let his head fall back on the headboard with a dull thump as he looked up at Chris with a dubious expression. Chris rolled his eyes, opening a new tab and entering the URL before he turned the laptop towards Peter. His mouth opened in a silent oh as he made an effort to push himself up. “ _The Argent Hunting Manual_.” He read out loud, tone mocking. “This is fascinating, how did I not know about this?”

Chris tried and failed to repress an honest, wide grin. “Obviously it wasn’t meant for you.”

“Did you write it?” Peter picked up the laptop as he pulled himself up, pulling his legs under himself, so he sat on the bed with his legs crossed, the laptop resting on his shins, so it the only part that touched the sheets was the back of the screen. Chris worried for a moment that it was going to break the delicate looking computer, but then shrugged it off – it was Peter’s, if he broke it, it was on him. He relaxed back on the headboard, lacing his fingers together on his stomach.

“Me and a few other hunters.” He said as he let himself sink into the mattress. It wasn’t too comfortable, but it didn’t matter. Peter’s head twitched as he turned to look at Chris who was now somewhat behind him.

“You’re going to let me read it?” Chris shrugged awkwardly, with his shoulders pressed to the headboard.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said. It also didn’t matter he never sent the comment, but he let it go. The kid would end up dead anyways, with how little experience he had. It wasn’t that Chris wanted him dead, hence why he started writing that reply, but he knew for a fact that knowledge worth nothing without the practice behind it. So he let his mind wander while Peter read.

He didn’t even notice he fell asleep.

Not until he woke up. It was still dark outside, and he was still in Peter Hale’s bed. The werewolf was in the same clothes he was when he came back to the bedroom after seeing John out. Chris suspected some of his position on top of the covers, on his belly, with his face turned away from Chris, was thanks to the tipsy state he’d been.

Chris sat up, repressing a painful groan. His neck was awfully stiff, because he fell asleep with only his head propped up on the headboard and stayed that way during the night. He usually moved around in his sleep, and he cursed for not doing so this time around, just to get into a more comfortable position. He circled his neck, rubbing the back of his neck before climbing off the bed.

The laptop was still open on the end of the bed, dangerously close to the edge. Chris picked it up, but it was dead without the charger plugged in. He looked for it first in the bedroom, then the kitchen, but when he didn’t find it just by looking, he slapped it shut and left it on the bedside table. He closed the door as he left the room, then made himself some tea.

\--

Their truce returned after that. It was somewhat stifled because they weren’t going to become suddenly friendly with each other, but avoiding the other seemed even more awkward. So, they acknowledged each other’s presence, but otherwise didn’t address the other. Their routine got comfortable.

Then, of course, they were kicked out. Right, technically they weren’t, but Peter’s landlord, a native American man named Devon, knocked on their door one morning.

“Good morning, boys!” He grinned, always easygoing and bubbly. Chris had met him like, three times so far. Sometimes his always cheery personality was exhausting, and just getting back late last night from a two-day trip from California, he wasn’t in the best of moods. He nodded to the man as he sipped from his tea, standing by the kitchen counter. Peter let Devon in and went back to the counter for his own coffee. Chris didn’t know when they started to get up around the same time, early in the morning.

“How’s the house coming together?” Chris wasn’t aware Devon knew about the cabin, so he let Peter, who obviously talked to him more, take this one.

“The first floor is almost finished. They just put up the faux wooden walls.” He told Chris that three days ago.

“Good! That’s great to hear, boys. I bet you’re excited to move.” That was their first warning sign. Peter smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is everything alright, Devon?” He asked. The landlord waved a dismissive hand.

“Yes, of course, just… there’s someone interested in renting out the apartment and if you move soon, I’d like to show it to them.” Chris held back the sigh that threatened to bubble up. He wasn’t nearly awake enough for this.

“How much time do we have left?” He asked with furrowed brows.

“Oh, no, there’s no rush!” Devon held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t mean to give you a notice. The new renters think it should be another month.” Thirty days, so it _was_ their notice.

“I think the first floor will be done by then, and we can move into the house.” Peter nodded. Chris’ eyebrows rose, but Peter knew better than him, since he kept in touch with Richie.

“That’s amazing news!” Devon grinned. “You’ll be more comfortable there, I’m sure.” He glanced towards the sofa where Chris’ unmade sleeping spot was. When he learned Chris had moved in, Devon didn’t voice any protests, but it became clear over time that he wasn’t comfortable with the arrangement. Chris didn’t know why, if he thought they were gay and he was homophobic or if he thought Chris took advantage of Peter… Or if he just didn’t like them.

“Yes.” Peter deadpanned. “It is. Thank you for letting us know.”

“Of course.” Devon’s smile was genuine as he turned to go. Peter rolled his eyes as he turned around once he closed the door behind the man. Chris smirked but didn’t comment.

“That’s why I don’t like to deal with the common crowd.” Peter said as he stalked back towards the kitchen. “He could’ve just said: ‘this is your thirty days’ notice, thanks for being here, bye’.”

“I think he’s just scared of us.” Chris shrugged.

“As he should be.” Peter nodded, self-satisfied. “I’m an apex predator after all.”

“Humans all are.” Chris rolled his eyes, anticipating a ‘werewolves are superior speech’. When it didn’t come, he sighed in relief. “Is the first floor really going to be done by then?”

“Richie said they’re moving a little slower than they’d like, but yes. Mostly.” He frowned. “I’ll have to ask.”

“I won’t call an ambulance if you pop a vein while doing so.”

“Another way I’m better than you.” Peter looked over flatly. “I’d heal before they even get here.”

“Well, I suppose that’s not hard with the closest medical center being at least fifty miles away.”

“Someone’s feeling sarcastic today.” Peter rolled his eyes, sipping from his coffee. Chris didn’t comment.

\--

Their impeding move meant they had to start to think about what they needed to actually live in the house. Which meant furniture shopping. Peter just mentioned if he wanted anything, send Peter links, which led to an argument about online shopping versus going to an actual furniture store. Chris won that when he said just more people would know where they lived if they had to send things back and order replacements all the time because Peter didn’t try them out and ended up not liking them.

“I still believe we live in the twenty-first century.” Peter grumbled as they drove towards Portland in Chris’ 4X4. The cross-country was useful for the terrain, but its tank was much smaller.

It only made sense to take the bigger car, besides, Peter reasoned when he got into the passenger seat, if they decided to buy something on the spot, they could pile it in the car. He didn’t say, but Chris had a suspicion Peter planned on taking him clothes shopping.

Why Peter cared what he was wearing was beyond Chris. He just started to get tired of the comments such as: “hey, are you naked over there? Your one pair of pants are in the wash”, and: “isn’t this the same shirt you had on for the past week? Oh, right, of course it is, your other one got destroyed”. He decided to humor Peter and truly, he started to miss having more underwear than three pairs, so he didn’t mind all that much if they went.

“I’m done arguing about this.” Chris replied to Peter’s jab about his age. It wasn’t like Peter was that much younger than him. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know how old Peter really was. He looked around thirty-five, maybe a bit younger with the beard, which was strange, with most people it was the opposite.

“I never said I didn’t agree with you, now, did I?” Chris didn’t have a good comeback for that, because Peter didn’t. He just said it would be more comfortable shopping online.

“Then stop whining about it.”

“I don’t whine.” Peter turned to him, offended. “I’m merely expressing my opinion. We live in a free country, aren’t we?”

“I have a feeling you take that sentiment a bit too far sometimes.” Chris answered as he reached over to turn up the heat. Oregon was a rainy state, and even though it was humid, it didn’t mean it was warm, too.

“Now that’s just dragging up the past unnecessarily.”

“What?” Chris’ eyebrows rose. “That you killed who knows how many people just the past five years alone? The word you’re looking for is criminal.”

“The word I’m looking for is ‘Welcome to Portland’.”

“That’s not one word.”

“I have a linguistic degree, if you really want to get into semantics.”

“Really?” Chris looked over, surprised. He didn’t know that.

“Amongst four others, yes, Christopher, I used to have a life before your sister burned it to the ground.” Chris pressed his lips together tightly.

“Who’s the one bringing up the past now?” He grumbled. Peter barked out a laugh.

They arrived to Portland shortly after. Peter seemed familiar with the city, because he navigated Chris through back streets without hesitation. He didn’t explain how he got to know the streets, so Chris didn’t question it. They parked near a significant sized building. It didn’t look any furniture store Chris had ever been to. It was white with lots of window, the company name in big, black letters on the front of it.

It looked like something Chris would never be able to afford.

“Just how much do you plan on spending?” He raised his brows as they got out of the car. Peter scoffed.

“It’s going to be my home for the foreseeable future. I won’t go to Macy’s to get my furniture.” With that, he took the lead to go inside. Chris rolled his eyes but followed.

In there, a short girl with her long, straight, brown hair in a ponytail stepped up to them, grinning widely, showing off perfectly aligned, white teeth. “Welcome to DWS!” She said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Peter Hale, I have an appointment at nine with Annie.”

“Surely! I’m her, it’s nice to meet you!” She reached out to shake their hands. Chris held back his sigh of exasperation. Leave it to Peter Hale to take him somewhere they need an appointment to look around the store. Annie seemed momentarily confused when Chris didn’t introduce himself, but she was quick to recover, smiling at them. “Where would you like to start?”

“At the bedrooms, please. I’m in desperate need of a proper mattress.” Peter returned the smile. She agreed cheerfully and led them through displays of kitchens and offices. They went up to the second floor, all the while Annie chatted.

“Is there any allergies or sensitivities we should be aware of?”

“I’m pretty sensitive to smells.” Peter said after a beat. Chris liked how professional the girl sounded.

“Then our hybrid mattresses probably aren’t for you, although we have some that usually don’t bother people with allergies. Do you have a limit?”

“No, not really.” Peter looked around as they were led deeper inside the store. The girl soon stopped in front of a huge bed, turning to them.

“This is probably my favorite in all the store, a coconut coir, with certified latex and wool.” She gestured at it. Chris’ eyebrows jumped to his hairline when he saw the price, over four thousand dollars. He looked over at Peter, who ran his hand over the surface before swinging onto it, laying down. He shifted a little, the plastic cover crunching under him as he settled comfortably, Chris watched him with his arms crossed.

He hummed. “Come on, Christopher, try it.” He looked over. Chris rolled his eyes, but then sighed and climbed in on the other side. It was awfully firm. He frowned and got up quickly.

“This would kill your back.”

“Do you have something softer?” Peter pulled himself up and stretched. Annie nodded, smiling at them, surely disappointed they didn’t bite and bought the most expensive mattress.

“We have some more coconut fiber if you’d like to look at them.” She added as she looked around. Chris shook his head.

“How about something a bit more classic.”

“Classic, a man after my own heart.” She grinned at him, then gestured them down the rows. She stopped by a significantly cheaper mattress. “This is our best hybrid, although I have to warn you, classic mattresses do collect odors.”

Peter shrugged, plopping down. He huffed as he settled, but almost immediately got up. “We’re not looking for ones with springs in them.” Chris furrowed his brows. “I’ve had enough springs in my back in the six years I’ve spent in the hospital. But of course, I don’t want to be the one bringing up the past.” Chris rolled his eyes, but Annie looked positively shocked.

“You spent six years in a hospital bed?” She tried to school her expression. “Sorry, I’m sorry. It just… I didn’t see that coming. I hope you’re better?”

“Yes, coming back from the dead had that lovely side effect, thank you for asking. Others didn’t bother.” He looked pointedly over at Chris, who cocked an eyebrow. Annie’s eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth before she collected herself.

“Right. I’m glad you’re okay now. Alright, so, no springs, right?” She grinned nervously, shifting from one foot to another. “Follow me, I think I know what you need.” She led them to another pricey mattress, and she run her hands over the plastic cover a little shyly. “I know it’s a bit expensive,” she started and Chris discreetly rolled his eyes. Even their cheapest mattress was probably more expensive than he could afford. Peter’s lips twitched into a smile as he glanced at Chris, “but I think this is the perfect mix of what you’re looking for.” She gestured them to try it out.

Peter sat before swinging his legs up, and squirmed around until he settled. After a moment, Chris saw the tension leave his back and shoulders, and he let out a long exhale. Chris got on it without prompting this time, and waited a moment until the mattress accommodated his frame, then—then he everything but melted into it. It was a perfect cross between firm and soft.

“Mmm.” Peter rumbled with a sigh and Chris chuckled.

“I agree.”

“I want the whole floor made of this.”

“You’re a ‘wolf, not a bird to nest.” Chris rolled his head so he was looking at Peter. The werewolf raised his eyebrows at him, but there was a small, amused smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

“Alright. How long does this one last without lumping?”

“Tests show it could withhold up to ten years. We offer twenty years of guarantee and whenever you like you can buy addition ten more years.” She slipped back into her professional persona Chris liked better. He nodded.

“Do you have it in a twin and a king-size?”

“Of course.” Annie nodded, stepping away from them. “Let me grab some forms, so we could take some notes. You were a bit early.” She grinned at them. Peter laughed, but it didn’t sound genuine. She left them for a minute, so Chris looked over at Peter flatly.

“Really? An appointment?”

“We have the whole store for ourselves.” Peter shrugged. “It doesn’t cost much extra and I’d rather do that than go to some commercial store you surely had in mind.” Chris shrugged.

“Yeah, well, with a kid you learn quickly that replaceable beats quality.” His mood soured at the mention of his daughter, but Peter didn’t let him wallow in self-pity as he got on his feet.

“Come, take a look.” He said as he led Chris down the rows where a huge bed stood. It was storage platform bed with the frame being dark, almost black wood, smooth and modern. It was the type of bed Chris could see in a penthouse. He wasn’t sure it would go with their rustic cabin vibes. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s pricey.” Again, the frame alone was over three thousand. “What do you need a king for anyways?”

“I like my space.” Peter shrugged. “And I’m the one paying for it. I don’t know why you keep dragging up the price.”

“I’m just worried by the time we actually move in we won’t be able to afford to even eat.”

“Well, you can stop then, I assure you, I can more than afford this.” He gestured around. “You know that—”

“I swear if you bring up your coma again, I’ll—”

“Shoot me? That threat is getting old. But yes, in fact the only good thing that came out of it might’ve been that all my investments paid off. Apparently, I’m a millionaire now.”

“Just don’t let Annie hear that, you won’t see that kind of money again.” Chris rolled his eyes and Peter laughed. Annie returned shortly after with a clipboard.

The rest of their trip was spent in a similar fashion. Peter made the decisions, but it seemed he wanted Chris’ opinion on every furniture and when Chris didn’t like something he hummed, and they looked at a different piece. It was pretty nice, even though Chris was fairly sure he was being indulged.

Annie took notes of everything, jutting down serial numbers as they decided by one or another piece. Then she led them to the front of the store where she summed their total, a number Chris would rather forget, then they exited the store with the promise that their order will be shipped to them at the agreed time three weeks from then.

Their next stop, just as Chris suspected was a clothes shop. Thankfully, Peter led him to a strip mall, so he didn’t have to buy something overly expensive. While Peter claimed he needed to buy something without Chris, the hunter bought some simple shirts in bulk, three jeans he eyeballed to be his size. He was just looking for sweatpants when Peter appeared by his side with empty hands. Chris’ eyebrows rose.

“Shopping didn’t go well?” He asked. Peter shrugged and lifted the leg of one of the hanging sweatpants.

“I need some too.” He said as he pulled some off the rack after looking at their sizes. Chris shook his head and joined him at picking them out. Soon Chris’ wardrobe was richer with more clothes than he would ever wear probably, and they were off to have lunch before going home. Peter navigated him to a restaurant close to the furniture store. They had an amazing view, with the restaurant sitting on the side of a hill. Peter had a table reserved here as well, and Chris wondered just how thoroughly he thought this trip through.

He should’ve known it was another high-end place with prices Chris’ wallet couldn’t afford.

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter waved a dismissive hand.

“Why do you keep buying me things?” Chris narrowed his eyes. Peter laughed a little.

“I can assure you; I didn’t become so selfless in the place of a few months.”

“Oh? So what’s the endgame here?”

“Well of course, I expect you to try my favorite dish and make it for me whenever possible.” Peter grinned and it was Chris’ turn to laugh. He knew he was the better chef out of the two of them, but he didn’t know Peter was aware of that.

“You’re impossible.” He shook his head. Peter shrugged.

It turned out Peter’s favorite dish was a big, green fish. Chris had to look it up on his phone, because he’d never heard of mahi-mahi before. He wondered how they ended up like that, opposites of probably everyone, including their own expectations. Chris would’ve thought, being a ‘wolf Peter’s favorite would be some kind of bloody red meat. In reality, he liked the healthier option of fish while Chris was fonder of steak than anything else.

The fish was good. It wouldn’t become Chris’ favorite, but Peter ate it as a treat, in small bites to last longer. Chris was amused by that but tried not to show. They paid almost a hundred as they left and Chris felt ridiculous for paying that much just for a lunch for two. Peter seemed satisfied enough though.

He even fell asleep on the drive home. Chris looked over at him, thinking back of that night when Peter was tipsy and Chris ended up falling asleep next to him. When did they get so comfortable around each other, that they fell asleep in each other’s presence without worrying when the other will slash their throats?

\--

The first floor was mostly done, but the floors were still covered with a plastic sheet taped down, left like that after Richie’s workers left. There was sawdust and splatters of plaster all over it. It was the worst around the living room windows and walls, but it seemed that the sheet did it’s job and the floor boards stayed clean.

The movers arrived a few minutes after Richie handed them the keys, so they didn’t have time to tear the sheet up. They directed the movers where the new furniture was going to go. Chris expected to have to assemble everything by themselves, but apparently the amount of money they spent in that furniture store was worth it, because as soon as all the boxes were inside, the three men who arrived with them settled down to put them together.

Of course, Chris couldn’t just stand around and watch, so he joined them and let Peter watch the four of them working from the bedroom doorway. Two of them worked on one piece at a time, and even though Chris needed to be directed a lot while the men worked as if they did this all the time, they made quick work.

They methodically went through all the rooms, then came to the living room. Peter, content to just stand around and critique Chris’ movements, never teared up the sheet, so Chris and one of the men got to it. They were lucky they left that one last.

“What’s this?” Peter all but growled as the sheet was lifted to reveal what looked like a healthy sized puddle of plaster, from the middle of the room to the living room door. Chris frowned as he tried to pick the edges with his nails but only small specks came off.

“It’s on there pretty good.” He said as he looked up at Peter and the three men waiting around.

“I’m calling Richie.” He shook his head.

“Do you want us to take these in one of the rooms, so they’re out of the way?” One of the movers asked nodding towards the four boxes by their feet.

“Yes, please.” Peter almost snapped. Chris was thankful he waited until the movers left to call Richie. He watched as the long, bulky truck turned in the narrow space in front of the house, then slowly, cautiously drive back down on the dirt road.

Chris went inside to find Peter taking pictures of the plaster with his phone.

“It’s not that bad. Just a bit of sanding, re-polishing and oiling and it’s good to go.”

“And we can’t step foot in this room until it’s done.” Peter said, annoyed. “I’m just going to order new ones, call Richie, have him pay for the damage.”

“That’s unnecessary, Peter.” Chris grunted, annoyed. “The finish takes, what, eight hours to dry enough to walk on.”

“It’s going to smell.” Peter clenched his jaw. “And it’s unnecessary extra work, while I can just buy new boards.”

“We already have the boards.” Chris took a deep breath, so he didn’t snap at him. “It’s a few hours of extra work, and we could do it ourselves. If you buy new boards, we have to take up the whole floor to replace them.”

“Richie’s guys left it like that. Richie’s guys can fix it.”

“You know they get paid by the hour, right? They’re going to drag it out as much as they can to get more.”

“Christopher, I’m done arguing with you. This is my house, my floor. I do whatever I want with it.” He snapped as he punched his phone’s screen a few times then brought the phone to his ear. “If you want to DIY so much, you can put the entertainment center, couch, dining table and chairs together yourself. Hello, no, I was talking to Christopher.” Peter turned away at the last sentence, talking in the phone. “Richie, I’ve sent you a few pictures, would you mind explaining them to me?”

“Peter, this isn’t Richie’s fault.” Chris said, annoyed. Peter turned to him with a heated look, covering his other ear pointedly. “Do you really want them to come back, live in a construction zone, listen to their noise for days, smelling them?” Chris raised his eyebrows and Peter narrowed his eyes at him, even as he answered Richie.

“Well, it had to be one of your guys.” He paused as he listened to whatever Richie was saying. Sometimes Chris was annoyed he couldn’t hear as well as ‘wolves. Not that those few little benefits would worth becoming a monster. “I don’t want them to come back.”

“Now you don’t want them to come back but when I say it, you have to look at me like I’m an idiot.” Chris rolled his eyes. Peter copied him with a long-suffering expression.

“I know that.” He paused again at whatever Richie was saying. “You sound like Christopher.” Chris’ eyebrows rose smugly. “Fine. I’m expecting the damage payment on my account by Monday.” Without waiting for a reply, he hung up, looking at Chris annoyed. “Richie said we could do it ourselves, so you can play handyman.”

“I told you.”

“You say a lot of stupid things, it’s hard to decide when you have a sound idea.” Peter sniped back, then left, going out to his car to get his suitcase. Chris snickered self-satisfied, looking over the room. As much as it annoyed him too that the spill was there he had to admit he was looking forward to adding his own touch to the place.

\--

Chris finally got around renting the machines some days later. He decided to rent a handheld one for the plaster and a polisher to strip the entire floor so it didn’t become mismatched. He hoped the finish he got was good enough. He was reading over the sander’s manual, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room. He had his respirator and noise-cancelling earphones on, as instructed, and his goggles sat by his knee.

“Having fun?” Peter asked as he entered the room for his morning coffee.

“I am, thank you.” Chris answered absently as he ran his fingers over and tugged at his beard that was getting longer by the day. It started to become a habit, petting his beard, but Chris thought he enjoyed it.

“Do you need help with that? I can tell without ever having used one, the plug goes into the outlet, you press the button…” He trailed off as Chris sent him a flat look.

“I’m fine.”

“Just saying.” Peter shrugged. He was sitting in one of the barstools they put by the counters that divided the living room from the kitchen. It had been Peter’s idea, ordered them a week after they went furniture shopping, so they arrived just the previous afternoon.

“This is a bit more complicated than a blow-drier.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Peter hummed. “Blow driers aren’t my thing either.”

“Hale, I’ve had a little sister, a wife and a teenage daughter. I recognize the sound of a blow-drier from down the hall.” Peter didn’t have a witty comeback, so Chris picked up the sanding machine and checked if the disk was properly attached, checked if the right grade of sandpaper was on, then checked if the triggers moved without getting stuck.

“It’s not a gun.”

“It’s a fast-spinning, narrow disk. I’m not taking my chances.”

“Story of your life, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you have some moisturizing to do?”

“Out of the two of us you’re the one with more skin-care products than clothes.”

“It’s because you have a ridiculous amount of clothes for someone who never goes out.”

“It’s important to be prepared.”

“That’s what she said.” Peter crackled at that and Chris fought back his own smile as he put the manual away and finally plugged in the sander. He secured the respirator on his face.

“I’m going to go out on a run.”

“Probably a good idea.” Chris nodded, plugging his ears then putting on the muffler. He saw from the corner of his eyes as Peter left the room, so he got to work.

It didn’t take long, really. He went through six sanding disks but all the plaster came off, leaving the floor smooth and pale. He used the bigger machine to go over the entire living room. Thankfully they decided to go with tiles in the kitchen, so he had a relatively small area to work with. He was done within three hours. Peter didn’t return by the time he was done, but Chris wasn’t worried. The ‘wolf could probably hear the machine from miles away.

He decided to work, out in the sunroom, since they didn’t have any other communal seating place aside the kitchen counter. Peter only returned late in the afternoon, dressed casually in jeans, a white button down with a leather jacket over it. He was spinning his keys on one finger as he went around the house, probably planning on going through the kitchen door since the front door was rendered useless while the floor was drying.

“Don’t you look cozy.” He smirked as he entered the sunroom, seeing Chris at the big dining table, reclined in his chair with a blanket thrown over his shoulders. With the weather being so moody the cold seeped into the glass-walled room. Chris looked up and leaned back, his typing on Peter’s computer coming to a halt.

“I’d ask where have you been, but I don’t actually care. Just don’t step on the floor.”

“I’m not an idiot.” Peter rolled his eyes as he dropped in the seat opposite Chris’, pushing the laptop away, so they had the table-top between them clear of Chris’ clutter. He reached to pull out papers in sheet protectors. He picked out a few papers then put them in front of Chris.

“What’s this?” He asked even as he picked them up to read over.

“I was getting my EIN anyways, so I had time to get this done too.”

“I don’t understand.” Chris frowned at the legal-sounding gibberish and dropped it on the table, looking up at Peter.

“I put your name on the house.” Peter gestured behind Chris.

“Why?”

“I’m not signing it over, but since you’re living here, your name needs to be on at least some papers.” He reached in his jacket again, dropping a pen in front of Chris. “Just sign it, the rest I’ve already dealt with.”

“Have you now?” Chris side-eyed him as he picked up the pen. “Don’t I need to show my face for this?” He asked even as he signed where it was indicated, making sure he read over the papers. Now that he knew what they were, the documents made more sense. “How do you know my social security number?”

“You take long showers.” Peter grinned.

“I really don’t.” Chris rolled his eyes. He and Peter were similar in that, between the two of them they occupied the bathroom fifteen minutes tops. “And you didn’t answer my other question.”

“I took care of it.” Peter shrugged.

“How?” Chris furrowed his brows, pushing the signed papers back in front of Peter.

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter smiled at him as he stood, then without further ado disappeared inside the house. Chris shook his head and sighed. He just hoped Peter didn’t associate Chris’ name with something illegal.

He stayed out to work a bit more before it was time for dinner, and he moved himself back into the house. He left Peter’s laptop on the kitchen counter where it wouldn’t be exposed to anything he might do while cooking. Chris decided to just make some sandwiches, since he didn’t feel like cooking. He was in the middle of cutting some tomatoes when Peter appeared in sweatpants and without a shirt. Chris raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment as Peter moved around him to get a bottle of water.

“Make me one, too.”

“Please.” Chris said pointedly as he cut four more slices for Peter.

“My mother’s been dead for a long time, Christopher, I don’t miss her.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” He hummed as he cut another slice of bread.

“It really doesn’t.” Peter grumbled. He stepped up next to Chris to butter his slice while Chris cut some cheese too. After a dinner spent in the sunroom, they moved to rinse the dishes. While Chris worked, Peter went to the edge of the kitchen floor to look over the living room. He wrinkled his nose. “It smells awful.”

“It won’t be like that for long. We could crack a window for the night.”

“Is it going to stay this color?”

“What’s wrong with the color?” Chris frowned as he stood next to the werewolf.

“It’s too intense. It’s not this intense in the hall or in the bedrooms.”

“It’ll seep in overtime. The finish’s instructions said it can take up to twenty days for it to set in its permanent color.”

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s not that bad.” Chris shifted, crossing his arms across his chest. “It’s not that different than what the original was and it’s going to fade with time.”

“It really is.” Peter hummed.

“Peter. It doesn’t have the plaster on it anymore. That was the point.”

“The point was that I have a floor that looks decent.”

“Why do you care about the floor so much?” Chris turned to glare at him. “We can cover it with a rug if you’re so bothered by it.”

“I don’t want to cover it up, that was the whole point of getting this floor.”

“Christ, you’re impossible.” Chris shook his head, going around Peter to go back to his room.

“I’m impossible?” Peter spun around to look after him.

“Why I am?” Chris raised his brows as he turned back, already from the hallway.

“Come with me.” Peter’s jaw twitched as he took hold of Chris’ upper arm, tugging him towards the back of the house. Chris considered fighting him but gave up. It wasn’t like Peter was going to hurt him at this point. “Look.” Peter led him into the bedroom, turning on the lights as he gestured around the floor.

“Peter.”

“Christopher. Do you see the difference?”

“Hale, I don’t care about the floor.”

“Well, this is your house now, so you should.” Peter bared human teeth at him as he stepped in front of Chris. The hunter took a step back.

“Yeah, well, I don’t. Drop it, Peter. I’m leaving tomorrow for a week and I’d like to get some sleep before that.”

“Right. It’s easy to say you don’t care when you’re not here for more than two days a week.” Peter stepped closer again. Chris looked at the less than a foot distance between them, then up at Peter.

“Back off.”

“Or else?” Peter cocked an arrogant eyebrow. Chris’ eyes narrowed.

“Peter. Back. Off.” Peter took a step closer, so Chris grabbed the shoulder of his shirt with one hand the other coming up to his back to push down as he raised his knee. Peter never made contact with it though, twisting out of Chris’ hold, somehow catching his wrist with one hand, pulling the arm over his own chest, flexing at the joint.

Chris grunted, hooking his heel in Peter’s ankle and kicked back. Peter twisted mid-fall, still holding on to his wrist, so as he fell on his back, he pulled Chris down with him, on top of him, turning his head so Chris didn’t knock into his chin. They both groaned as Chris’ weight dropped on top of Peter. Chris didn’t know what to expect next. Peter was breathing heavily under him, his jaw twitching.

He was about to push himself up, but halfway there, Peter reached up to grab a hold of the back of his neck, pulling him back down. Their teeth knocked together as Peter drew him into a kiss, then angled his head, so he had better access to Chris’ mouth.

It should’ve surprised Chris. They were hardly acquaintances, if one ignored the fact that they wanted to kill each other, not figuratively. Chris still didn’t like ‘wolves. He wasn’t like his sister, he knew they were people too, but they were monsters too. They were in his nightmares before he even met one, thanks to stories from his dad. Then he met one and learned, first hand, just how terrifying they were.

Peter was… something else. He didn’t like hunters, but what prey liked predators? He thought he was better than ninety percent of the population because he popped fangs and claws on full moons. He was overly dramatic about a lot of things, but that was all on the surface. Chris had no idea what Peter was thinking at any given time. Not like Chris cared enough to want to figure out.

They were enemies. The most justified ones in history too, probably.

Peter was the reason Chris’ family was dead. He may have only killed Kate personally, but the fact he bit Scott was what started the series of events that led to Gerard, then Victoria and Allison. For that, Chris hated him.

Chris was part of the family that killed Peter’s. Even though he said he wasn’t anything like his sister or his father, he understood that Peter had no reason whatsoever to believe him. Chris didn’t blame Peter for hating him.

That mutual hatred wasn’t something that should’ve made this all possible. They should’ve killed each other that night in front of the cemetery. The fact that they didn’t was the reason why Chris wasn’t surprised that Peter was currently pushing his tongue down Chris’ throat, holding on to his head with hands that weren’t quite human, and that Chris was giving as good as he got.

They moved almost at the same time, their hips pushing against each other. Chris pulled away, panting, as he reached down to loosen his sweatpants. Peter seemed dissatisfied with their position though, because he growled and turned them, so he was on top. Chris already felt the edges of panic set in as he was trapped by the very thing he feared to be trapped by, so he fought back.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Peter growled as he got hold of Chris’ wrists to hold them down.

“Let me go.” Chris almost snarled. The ‘wolf just grinned, showing off his sharper-than-human teeth. Chris clenched his own teeth together, hooking one leg behind Peter’s knee and pulled it down as he pushed himself up with his other leg and elbow. Peter grunted but went where Chris manipulate him. Finally, back on top, Chris spread his hand at the base of Peter’s throat, leaning down to whisper in his ear: “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog, Christopher.” Peter snarled as he buckled up so their crotches rubbed together. Chris slid his hand up to circle Peter’s neck, not squeezing, just holding there.

“Believe me, I know.” No, Peter was more dangerous than a dog. So much more dangerous, that Chris should be locked up just for thinking about leaning down and kissing him hungrily, like Peter was all he ever wanted. Yet here he was, not in a mental constitution, grinding down on Peter Hale’s crotch, so turned on he could hardly breathe.

Peter was already fighting for control, but Chris didn’t let him up. If Peter really wanted to, he could’ve easily buckled Chris off, but instead he nipped at his lower lip, growling: “If you expect me to submit, Christopher, you have another thing coming.”

“I’m not.” Chris ground down again. “I just don’t like to feel trapped.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Peter grinned into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Chris’ waist, pulling himself into a sitting position. The show of strength slightly impressed Chris, but the urge to roll his eyes was bigger. He sank one of his hands in Peter’s hair, keeping his head close while the other reached down to free both their erections, so he could wrap his hand around both of them.

They were both turned on and also quite uncomfortable, so Chris wasn’t surprised when Peter reached down to take hold of Chris’ thigh and with some back-and forth rocking that reminded Chris of the time he rode camelback on a vacation with Allison, Peter got to his feet and took a few steps to the bed, dropping both of them on the fluffy comforters sideways.

They shifted, so they were fully on top of the sheets, Peter pulling down his pants to mid-thigh – no boxers, which didn’t surprise Chris at all. Chris kicked his own off entirely, hooking the edge of his briefs under his balls, then Peter reached over to wrap his hand around him, Chris mirroring his movements. They were both looking down at each other, foreheads touching as they jerked each other off, one of Chris’ leg thrown over Peter’s hips.

After a few moments Peter nudged Chris’ head, and they were kissing again, their hands picking up speed as they got more and more aroused. It didn’t take long, though they both had enough experience that it wasn’t fast either. Peter was the first to come, turning, so he was half on top of Chris when he grunted into his mouth, hips jerking with his climax. Chris followed soon after, panting into Peter’s mouth.

In his post-orgasmic haze, Chris didn’t even care he just fucked Peter Hale. He sighed as he rolled on his back, tugging at his briefs to pretend to have some semblance of dignity and from the corners of his eyes he saw Peter doing the same.

\--

Chris only meant to close his eyes for a moment, then the next they opened to a dark room and an arm around his waist. He reached up to rub at his eyes, but the bittersweet smell of cum stopped him short – right. He sat up, Peter’s hand slipping to the bed. Chris didn’t need to look for his sweatpants, they were right at his feet, so he pulled them on, then went to where he remembered the master bath to be – and sure enough, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the light tiles of it.

He washed his hands and went to the toilet when Peter padded inside, clicking on the light which made both of them hiss. Peter pretty much ignored him as he, too washed his hands, looked down at his pants and frowned. He pulled them off by their ankle, dropping them in the hamper by the sink, then went around Chris to get in the shower.

“Good morning to you too.” Chris grunted as he finally started to pee, while Peter turned on the shower.

“It’s not the morning. Take a shower, you smell like spunk.”

“Says the guy who fell asleep with cum crusting his pants.” Chris shook his head as he looked over at the hamper, but then shrugged, shucked his clothes, dropping them in the hamper before stepping inside the spacious shower. Peter frowned at him from where Chris pushed him to the side to have the spray.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked after a moment. Chris rubbed water away from his face to look at his puzzled expression.

“It’s called taking a shower, Peter.” Chris sighed, tiredly as he reached behind Peter for the body wash. He frowned as the thick consistency.

“That’s hair conditioner.”

“And I was just getting used to not having to share my bathroom with women.”

“That’s hilarious, did you come up with that yourself?” Peter deadpanned as he took the conditioner and put a different bottle in Chris’ hand while he took a third bottle off the shelf. Chris rolled his eyes as he soaped up, letting Peter wash off his own – they took turns under the spray, getting clean in a few minutes.

Peter handed him a towel once they were finished, and they went back to the bedroom. Peter pulled back the covers, rubbing himself semi-dry before settling in bed, still damp. Chris dried off as much as he could, going into the walk-in to look for a fresh pair of pants, then shut off the bathroom light before joining Peter in bed.

Peter didn’t even protest, just turned towards Chris and shifted until he let out a satisfied sigh and fell asleep just like that. Chris tossed and turned for a good five minutes before he finally settled, facing away from Peter and falling asleep to the sound of the werewolf’s soft breaths.

\--

Chris woke to the sensation of cold against his back. He rolled over, so he laid in the warm spot where Peter probably slept until he got up. Chris rubbed his eyes tiredly. The nightmares didn’t stay away that night, and although he didn’t remember them at least, he still felt that tightness in his chest that indicated it must’ve been about one of his loved one’s death.

The sound of birds singing loudly made him open his eyes and push himself on his elbows. The door next to the window by the bed was open, but Chris didn’t see Peter from his spot. The sound of Peter’s way too expensive coffee machine proved the werewolf wasn’t out there anyways.

Chris let himself just lay in bed and think about last night for a moment. Was this something he really wanted to pursue? It was fine for one night, to fall in bed with Peter because they both wanted each other, but… long term, he didn’t think they could make it work without a lot of effort.

And they didn’t want to anyways. It wasn’t like they even liked each other. What kind of relationship would that be? He couldn’t even say friends with benefits because there was nothing friendly between the two of them. They were reluctant allies at best. Not even.

Chris absently rolled his wedding ring. Of course, he’d never have what he had with Victoria. For once, he was way too old to start dating now, not even mentioning his life was more complicated than the life of the Kardashian. And he was living with Peter. What was he thinking? He wasn’t, that was the answer. He was just lonely and wanted to feel a connection to someone, anyone. Apparently, it didn’t even matter it was someone he hated.

Well, that wasn’t true, was it? Not because he didn’t hate Peter. He was a werewolf and Chris was taught to hate his kind. He didn’t even mind, after seeing what they were capable of. But getting in bed with his enemy… It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Aside the orgasms, that is.

Chris was a suspicious soul since he was twelve. He only started trusting Victoria after she saved his life when she didn’t need to. They were still young. They were supposed to catch an omega, just one, according their intel. When they discovered three in the warehouse, it got chaotic. They came prepared, five hunters for the job, led by Gerard. When they caught the first one, ready to kill and the second appeared to protect its pack mate, they got separated.

Chris went after the second. He didn’t think anyone noticed. Then the third appeared out of nowhere, roaring at Chris, shifted. Chris was a proud man, but he could admit he’d never been more scared. He was barely eighteen, and he was alone with possibly two monsters. Then, after a way too drawn out fight Victoria shot the beast and supported him out of the building on her shoulder. That was when he fell in love with her.

He’d never get the chance to have something like that again. No, he’d never get the chance to have anything at all. He could have a one-night stand here and there but it would constantly make him ache for something solid, something constant like Victoria was. But he’d never fall in love with any of them because he wouldn’t be able to trust them not to stab him in the back.

With Peter on the other hand, he knew what to expect. Even if he wasn’t perfectly clear he wanted to be the one who kills Chris, he wasn’t the type to do it when Chris didn’t expect it. It hit too close to home, he supposed, with Kate and Gerard’s favorite method of getting close to their targets.

“Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” Gerard would sit him and Kate down and pace in front of them as he explained how to worm their way into someone’s life, especially a ‘wolf’s. Chris was never a big fan of the technique, hence why he never used it when hunting, but the rest of his family didn’t have objections against it.

So, no. Peter liked to look his wrongdoers in the eyes and watch life leave them. He would make perfectly clear why and how and when he was going to kill Chris and it wasn’t now. Chris didn’t know why Peter didn’t kill him there outside the cemetery months ago, nor did he know why Chris didn’t kill him that night.

Perhaps Peter was right. Perhaps they really had some kind of connection thanks to their tragic pasts. It bothered Chris that he shared even just that much of himself with the ‘wolf, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. Plus, who else was he going to share it with? Nobody would really understand. Chris still felt like he himself didn’t understand at all.

Chris didn’t even realize he yearned for another body in his bed after Victoria’s death. He wasn’t the type to surround himself with people at all times, but he did need them. He never realized just how lonely he had been after Victoria’s death and now that he had… something with Peter, even when he wished it was someone else, someone he trusted… He couldn’t deny how good it felt, to just be in the same space as the other man.

“I can hear you thinking from the kitchen.” Peter said as he entered the room, a cup in his hand. He leaned against the door frame, just looking at Chris. He raised his eyebrows. “Are you planning on lazing around in my bed all day?” Chris rolled his eyes.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t you say you’re leaving for a week?” Shit, he forgot about that. He tried not to show that, so he just shrugged.

“I have time. I’m meeting Matt late, so I have…” He looked around, but didn’t find a clock or a phone anywhere. He didn’t know where he left his. Probably in the kitchen. “What time is it?” Peter let out a frustrated sigh and went to his walk-in, then came out, holding an expensive-looking watch.

“Eight thirty.”

“Then I have around two hours until I have to go.”

“And you’re going to spend it in my bed.”

“Only if you join me.” He raised challenging eyebrows, feeling bold. Peter’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer to his side of the bed, placing his mug and watch on the bedside table before looking over at Chris.

“You know what this means, right?”

“I don’t care, Hale. Get in bed.” Peter smirked and did, and their discussion ended there.

\--

Chris slammed the door to his car shut, hissing when the movement jostled his hurt shoulder. He struggled to get his duffle on his uninjured shoulder, but with one of his hands in a sling, it was difficult. He gave up and let the bottom graze the ground as he strode towards the front door. It was strange to arrive here. He was used to driving through Diamond Creek and up to the apartment building to get home. He almost drove past the dirt road leading up.

He was curious to see if Peter managed to take care of the floor properly after he’d left the ‘wolf with instructions how long he should be careful with it. He wondered if Peter put together the furniture in his absence.

Chris still wasn’t used to parking in the garage, so he left the car out, unlike Peter, who confidently drove inside on the day they arrived. He halted halfway to the door when he heard a soft thump from the right side of the house. The garden was on the left side, nothing on the right. He dropped his duffle and pulled out a pistol. He wished he could handle the shotgun, but with his shoulder smarting, it was impossible. He aimed the gun to the ground as he sneaked towards the corner, then carefully glanced over it.

There was a man in front of the house, a few feet away from the living room windows. He was shirtless, his hair damp with sweat, just like his skin. He was swinging an axe, cutting logs in half. It took Chris a moment to realize the man was Peter. He frowned, relaxing the gun at his side, heading towards the man.

“Welcome home, dear.” Peter didn’t even turn towards him.

“What are you doing?” Chris frowned at the man’s back, stopping just a foot or so away behind him.

“Working.” He answered as he struck on another log, breaking it in half. Chris’ eyebrows rose.

“So, you’re what now, a lumberjack?”

“No need to sound so condescending.” He could hear the scoff but Peter still hadn’t looked at him. “I do get bored, you know.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.” Chris admitted, shifting. “I’m going to lay down.” He turned to walk away before Peter could reply. He dropped his bag off in the shed, then went inside to pop a painkiller and hopefully pass out for the next few hours. The living room looked roughly like he left it, so Peter didn’t put the furniture together. He groaned at the thought of having to put it together himself with his sore shoulder.

He was just struggling to fill a glass with water one-handed when Peter came inside. He was barefoot, leaving dirt and wood chippings on the floor. Chris glared at him. Peter was headed to the fridge, probably to get a bottle of water, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Chris pop the lid of his painkillers. Chris raised questioning eyebrows.

“Whatever happened to you?” Peter asked, crossing his arms across his still bare chest.

“Hunting accident.”

“Elaborate.”

“An omega got to me before we could put it down.”

“I figured that much.” Peter rolled his eyes, making an impatient gesture, rolling his wrist.

“What do you want, Hale, a full report? It’s none of your business.”

“So that’s where we stand?” Peter stepped closer and Chris turned, so they were facing each other. Peter reached up, cradling the side of Chris’ neck, leaning his forehead against his. Chris stiffened. “What happened, Christopher?” Peter’s voice was quiet and almost soft as he closed his eyes. From the corner of his eyes, Chris saw black veins bulging on his hand.

“The omega threw me into a tree, chipped a bone. It’s not a big deal, just hurts.” He took a step back, wanting distance from the ‘wolf. Peter let him go, searching his face before nodding.

“That wasn’t that hard now, was it?” He cocked an arrogant eyebrow. Chris’ jaw clenched at the shift in his attitude. Peter went around him, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water. “I moved your things to the bedroom.”

“They were in a bedroom before.” Chris stiffened.

“Well, now they’re in another.” Peter growled in his ear as he stepped up behind him. Chris turned to look at him, studying the wolf’s impassive face for a moment.

“I’d ask why if I thought you’d answer.” His gaze flickered down to Peter’s lips.

“Just logistics.” Peter shrugged with a sly smirk as he stepped even closer, so they were toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose.

“Fine.” Chris swallowed. “I’m a light sleeper though.” He raised questioning eyebrows. Peter huffed.

“I don’t care, Argent.” He echoed Chris’ words from the other day, and Chris couldn’t hold back his desire. Just as he pulled Peter in for a kiss, he thought maybe he was overthinking the whole thing. They didn’t need to define it at all. They lived with each other, hated each other, didn’t trust one another. Throwing sex in the mix didn’t change that.

\--

“That isn’t—” Chris started, but Peter looked up at him sharply, eyes glowing their supernatural blue in warning. Chris rolled his own eyes and leaned back with a huff. “Fine, do it. See how it collapses when you lift it upright.”

“I didn’t ask for your directions. I have the factory made one.” Peter raised the thin booklet of instructions.

“It doesn’t mean you’re doing it right. You’re holding it at the wrong angle.”

“It’s ninety degrees. How do you want me to hold it?” Peter raised his eyebrows and Chris looked heavenward, praying for strength to put up with his attitude. He was right. Sex didn’t change anything. Certainly not Peter.

“I’m not talking about that. Just turn it a bit—”

“Stop it. If you want to do it, get off your ass and come here.” Peter glared. Chris clenched his jaw as he returned the stare. “That’s right, you can’t. So how about you shut up and let me do it?”

“How about you do it correctly?” Chris countered arrogantly.

“It’s not too late to slash your throat and throw you in a ditch. Nobody would look for you.” Peter bared human teeth at him.

“Want to test who is faster?” Chris nodded behind him to the kitchen. He knew Peter was aware of his guns hidden around the house, one of them taped on the bottom of the sink.

“No need for a test.” Peter wrinkled his nose. “I can be over there and break your neck by the time you get up.”

“Can we concentrate here?” Chris asked after a pause, bringing his tea to his lips to sip from it.

“I’d like to, but someone’s threatening me with bodily harm.” Peter sent him a deadpan look even as he picked up the booklet. Chris rolled his eyes.

“You started it.”

“How old are you, Argent, five?”

“I’m older than you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, grandpa.”

“Kinky.” Chris cocked an eyebrow when Peter snapped his head up to look at him. Peter threw his head back as he crackled up and Chris had a hard time repressing his own smirk. Before they could return to work, a phone rang. Peter’s, because Chris’ on the counter was dark and silent, plus he muted it for the weekends.

It became a habit after Peter started working, but Chris couldn’t tell why. They just decided the weekends were for them to rest, to fuck and to enjoy a rare moment of peace between them. Strangely, it worked. Chris didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. He just enjoyed the ride for now. Peter was a good lay, and he could occasionally enjoy their sniping as well.

They still weren’t friends, but Chris felt a shift to something softer than enemies. It was almost as if going at each other became a habit they were reluctant to break because they didn’t know how else to be with each other. Although they didn’t mind. Sometimes it made for glorious, violent, heated sex. It was more satisfying than Chris remembered being with Victoria, but he didn’t think it was better. Just a different kind of good.

“Well, that’s new.” Peter muttered as he looked at his screen. Chris made a questioning noise. Peter shook his head as he answered the phone. “Nephew dearest, do you mind telling me how you got this number?” He paused as he listened to Derek. Chris wished, just a little, that he had the werewolf’s hearing. “Oh, but that’s none of your business now, is it? You left without saying goodbye, I assumed that was permission to do the same.” Peter’s head tilted to the side. “Hurts, doesn’t it, not being the alpha anymore?”

There was a longer pause during which Peter’s eyebrows gradually rose higher and higher. “Psychoanalyzing me, Derek, really?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you. But fine, you want to know why I left? I left, because my only remaining family abandoned me once again, left me behind like I’m some toy you don’t need anymore. Frankly, it’s getting old, first Laura, now you. Well, guess what, you don’t need to worry about my intentions anymore, because I don’t plan on associating with you or your adolescent pack anymore.”

He paused again, but it wasn’t enough for Derek to be able to respond. “Now, I’d appreciate if you conveniently lost my number and forgot about me. You have practice in that anyways.” He hung up then, tossing the phone aside, the metal case loud in the quiet of the empty room.

Chris considered addressing the, honestly, valid points Peter brought up in the conversation, but looking at how the ‘wolf immediately returned his intense focus on the pieces of wood in front of him, he decided against it. What could he say to that anyways? Sorry I didn’t think you had emotions to care about people leaving you all the time?

Even with his shoulder starting to smart again, his morning dose of painkillers wearing off, Chris got off his stool. He padded over where Peter was sitting cross-legged, studying the booklet, absently rolling a screw between his fingers. Peter looked up at the movement sharply, his glowing eyes warning Chris off. Chris ignored the werewolf’s low growl, easing himself on the ground across him, pulling the booklet out of his hands.

“Told you, you were doing it wrong.” He murmured as he looked over the drawings. “This isn’t even the next step.” Chris gestured at the pile of boards next to Peter. The ‘wolf let out a slow exhale.

“I’m at step three, Argent, I’m not an idiot and I can read.”

“Can you?” Chris asked, annoyed. He shuffled over to sit next to Peter, their shoulders pressing together as he laid the booklet over their knees. “Look, you’ve got this piece on, but there’s two of them. You can’t do step three until you have both of them on.”

“Where do you see that you need two of those?” Peter took the booklet, annoyed. With his other hand, he grabbed onto Chris’ wrist, black veins appearing on the back of his hand. Chris’ shoulders slumped with relief as he pointed.

“That ex two, what do you think that means?” He cocked an eyebrow. Peter huffed.

“It’s next to the screw icon, so obviously means I needed to twist it twice—”

“It’s there because it shows you do it twice, therefore there're two pieces you need to secure—”

“Why would it say that...”

As they argued about whether Peter left out a piece, Chris felt something strangely like affection warming his chest. He didn’t like Peter; didn’t think he’d ever be able to look at him and not see a monster. He doubted he’d ever trust him, nor did he think Peter would ever feel anything but resentment towards him. But they only had each other now.

He started to understand why Peter came to him to ask to live with him. He’d been betrayed enough times, just like Chris, not to trust anyone easily. They were enemies. There was no expectation of trust, just mutual understanding, and Chris could understand the need for that.

They were a werewolf and a werewolf hunter living together. Like a bad joke. It wasn’t ever going to be easy, but they made it work. They had to, because they didn’t have any other choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://assisreal.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi, and if you liked the fic, please consider [reblogging this post](https://assisreal.tumblr.com/post/621837892578410496/fear-no-monsters-by-saori-word-count-23k-summary) to share it with others!
> 
> Also, in my boredom one day I built the house in Sims, just for fun I'll link it for you to take a look too, if you want: [HERE](https://imgur.com/a/421Jk3U)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments are always welcome and appreciated, I learn from your constructive criticism!


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